Sympathy for the Devil
by Ms Towa
Summary: His grandfather left behind a legacy, and Lovino was deemed unfit to inherit it. Forced out of his own estate, Lovino is determined to rescue his brother, who is held hostage by the family that betrayed him. In order to do that, he must enlist the help of a demon, but not just any demon: the Devil himself.
1. Prologue

**Title: **_Sympathy for the_ Devil  
**Pairing:** England/S. Italy (Romano)  
**Genre(s):** Supernatural, Romance +some action/adventure, fantasy, and mystery  
**Rating:** T/M  
**Warnings: **Coarse language, suggestive themes, (fantasy) violence, use of alcohol, mentions of drugs (and drug use), and minor religious undertones

**0—Prologue**

Faster, faster, quickly—_faster_.

He glanced behind him. Shouts resounded throughout the entire neighbourhood. Curious onlookers—men, women, children—all peered out their window. Mothers quickly urged their children inside, and husbands swiftly shut the blinds and the curtains. He didn't blame them; if he was a bystander, he wouldn't have wanted to help either.

Faster, faster, faster still!

His legs carried him to a marketplace, where owners smartly closed up shop. If it wasn't for the adrenaline surging through his veins, he would have collapsed in the middle of the street. His mind wasn't nearly as focused, however. All of his might and will was concentrated in his legs, in his escape. That was why he was taken by surprise when a powerful grip pulled him aside. He almost screamed—_almost_—but then he realised that he did not want to give away any more information about his current location. He nearly bit the hand that covered his mouth if it wasn't for the familiar voice that whispered in his ear.

"Relax, it's me, Antonio, your cousin. You're safe now, Lovi. I'll get you out of here."

Tears of relief streamed down his cheeks as he nodded his head gratefully.


	2. Chapter 1

**I: Milan**

Antonio trekked in front of him, keeping his green eyes focused on the path that laid ahead of them, as he assured his cousin that all would be fine and well and that everything and everyone would be okay. However, Lovino knew that Antonio couldn't foresee the future. Certainly, none of them had expected what had transpired only a few days ago after their grandfather's death. Everyone had thought that the family was closely knit, but then, all of a sudden, there was a riot. Nobody wanted Lovino as a leader when he was only nineteen and inexperienced; he knew that. Everyone knew that. Even _Feliciano_, the family's youngest, knew that. That's why, when they had chased him out of the house, using his brother as a hostage, he obeyed. There was no use in resisting.

But then they tried to kill him; _now_ they are trying to kill him. "I have a... a friend," Antonio had told him hesitantly after finding his younger cousin hours ago and calming him down, "who may be able to help us. He has several residences across the globe."

"Are we buying back the estate?" Lovino had inquired sceptically.

"No, it is still under your family name; you cannot buy what is already yours, Lovi," Antonio had responded. "We cannot do much with only two people when attempting to seize the estate back into our own hands either. We can only ask for help. Besides, he is not exactly rich or wealthy. I say they are residences, but they are more of a... a refuge or a hideout. The closest one outside of Rome or away from any part of South Italy is in Milan. Hopefully, they will not follow us that far—not so soon anyway."

Lovino had ignored the last comment and hopped into Antonio's rental car, journeying north and avoiding the southern half of Italy. Even though his cousin had practically disappeared off the face of the globe seven years ago, returning after two years into his disappearance, Lovino trusted him still. Antonio would never lie to him and would never hurt him; he had always been the caring older brother. Even now, the Spaniard was endeavouring to help him. The two of them had avoided checking into a hotel, opting to drive directly to Antonio's friend, stopping only to refill the gas tank. After nearly six hours, Antonio had pulled into a small local neighbourhood in the countryside and parked in front of an aged but large two-storey house. Stepping out of the car, Lovino could feel the mild climate changes against his fairly tanned olive skin.

"Your friend lives here?" Lovino had asked of his cousin. He still did not understand how Antonio's friend could help them, but he was willing to take his chances. All he had left to lose was his life—only that and nothing more. After all, his name now possessed little to no value.

"No, he lives uphill, just beyond the forest," Antonio had answered shortly with a sheepish smile. "He's somewhat... isolated from the world—or the rest of it at the very least. The car wouldn't survive a trip up the hill, and I definitely don't want to risk a trip downhill either. It would probably roll if I did." He had then jerked his head towards the direction of the aforementioned hill, chirping, "_Vamos_, Lovi!" Once more taking the lead, Antonio had climbed up the hill steadily, and Lovino had followed after him as he was left without much of a choice. The sleek blades of luscious green grass brushed against the denim fabric of his designer jeans as the sole of his Italian leather boots sunk into the moist terrain. "It seems like there's been rain recently," Antonio had commented, "so be careful not to slip, Lovi!"

In response, Lovino had only clicked his tongue in disdain. He didn't want to be treated like a child, but what choice did he have in the matter? He couldn't even take care of himself; that's how he had gotten into this mess in the first place. Still, he didn't want to think of himself as _helpless_. If he did, if his mind really did wander down that path, then he doubted that he could fix anything.

By the time they had reached the peak of the hill, Lovino was panting and exhausted. His legs were sore, but Antonio had seemed to be just fine. Of course he was, the brunet griped, hazel eyes sparking with a mixture of jealousy and spite, the bastard plays football all the damn time! Lovino barely even possessed half of Antonio strength and energy! As though reading his thoughts, Antonio had angled his head so that he could easily peer over his shoulder and glance at Lovino. "Do you want to rest, Lovi?" the Spaniard had inquired gently, worry evident in his green eyes.

Lovino had only huffed indignantly in response and snapped, "I'll be fine! Let's keep moving, dammit!"

"Okay, if you say so," Antonio had agreed reluctantly after seeing the exhaustion fazing his cousin. He sighed and straightened his back. "There should be a path nearby. Don't wander too far away from it, Lovi."

"I got it, bastard."

Now, hiking through the forest, guided only by a clearing free of trees, the two of them were entirely silent. Lovino bit nervously on his lower lip as he heard the rustling of leaves and the snapping of twigs. Antonio had tried to reassure him that it was only noise caused by woodland creatures. They shouldn't worry too much about it and ought to focus on getting out of the forest. Attempting to reassure his cousin, Antonio mentioned that they were getting closer and closer to his friend's house. Certainly enough, once they stepped out of the eerie forest, just a ways beyond was an _ancient_ manor. Compared to the other houses in the neighbourhood downhill, this manor was considerably different.

Yes, the manor consisted of two storeys with the ground floor and the upper floor like the others. However, whereas the other houses seemed to be a few decades old, this manor appeared to have lasted through _centuries_. Even the architectural style was different. The other houses had a tinge of Mediterranean life, a style that one could identify as a typical old Italian home, while this manor was colder. There was a hint of Italianate influence—chiefly Classical or Neoclassical—though the style was primarily Gothic in appearance. The manor was made of sash windows and brick walls, roofed with dark slate, and there was even a single raised tower on the western side of the building. In the front of the manor, there were two verandas, left and right, connected to a central porch leading to the front door with three raised steps. The colour had darkened some from its original form; stained with what appeared to be soot and ash.

"It's a Victorian style," Antonio informed softly upon seeing the perplexed visage his cousin bore. "Come on, we don't have much time to waste, Lovi."

"Y-Yeah..."

Snapping out of his surprise, Lovino followed Antonio to the front steps, climbing onto the porch tentatively, before noticing the Spaniard hesitate—his fist paused in mid-air just as he was about to knock on the surface of the door. He nearly asked Antonio what was wrong until the door suddenly swung open, and a little boy with straw coloured hair and a strange cowlick poked his head outside the door. His cerulean eyes raised to meet with Antonio's green orbs, and he grinned. "Hi, Toni!" he chirped in English, notably with American accent, before opening the door wider, revealing his plain clothes—a hooded pullover with khaki shorts and a pair of white socks and runners. "You haven't visited in a long time!"

"_Hola_, Alfredo," Antonio greeted the child, responding in a lightly accented English as well, with a smile. Lovino assumed that the child did not speak Italian despite currently residing in Milan. "Is Arturo home?"

"Artie is in the Tower! He says he's busy and that, if it's going to be another 'stupid git' at the door, I should open it because Artie says that he doesn't want to deal with you, Toni!" the child rambled before his eyes fell upon Lovino behind Antonio. "Who's that?"

In rapid, heated Italian, Lovino asked of his cousin under his breath, "Antonio, what the hell—"

"Alfred is at an impressionable age, Romano," a cold voice broke through the air, freezing the entire atmosphere and intensifying the scene. The only one who seemed unaffected was Alfred, who was ushered inside the house to play with his toys by a pale hand, slender in form but calloused with wear. The person beyond the shadows of the house spoke in clear Italian, fluent and fluid, though it was lightly and subtly accented, "Even if he does not understand what you are saying, he can repeat it still, nonetheless, and I would rather _not_ have an Italian grandmother asking me what I'm teaching my children—especially if she's Catholic and highly religious and conservative."

Grinding his teeth together, Lovino snapped, "Who the hell is 'Romano,' and who the hell are _you_?"

Stepping into the light from beyond the shadows within the home, a young man just as tall as Antonio was unveiled. However, he was practically the Spaniard's polar opposite. Where Antonio had curly, rich brown hair and tanned skin, the blond possessed unruly, mousy blond hair and pale skin a fair shade of porcelain. His eyebrows were especially prominent, and his build was rather slender in comparison to Antonio. His eyes as well were different than Antonio's. Although they were still green, they were much more vivid—like luscious leaves or polished jade or vibrant emeralds or even freshly picked lime—and incredibly ethereal while Antonio's was more of an earthly olive. Lovino hadn't even noticed he had been staring until the stranger had snapped his fingers in front of his face.

"Rude little prat, aren't you?" he grumbled in his native language—English, the Queen's English—posh, elegant, and sophisticated. Switching over to Italian for Lovino's benefit, he inquired, "As I was saying, didn't Carriedo mention me earlier? He _is_ a loquacious _wanker—_" the strange word was spoken in English since there was probably no direct translation "—he probably couldn't keep his mouth shut moaning about me."

"I actually said very little," Antonio grumbled in Spanish, a faint blush on his cheeks.

"Not bloody likely," the blond retorted in English.

"Choose one damn language, you bastards!" Lovino snapped furiously in Italian. He vaguely understood English due to all of the school lessons he was required to take during secondary education. It didn't amount to much, really, but it was enough—barely, however—to keep him on the same page as the others. His Spanish, on the other hand, was almost non-existent. Although he had spent his childhood summers in Spain with Antonio, the older boy had always translated for him, so he never bothered learning Spanish.

The blond opted to speak in English since he was more comfortable with doing so, foregoing Romano's benefit, he decided, simply because he was a rude little prat. "I really don't care what language you decide to speak; I understand a good majority of them anyway as long as we don't venture to the far East. My knowledge is limited there."

"You're _friends_ with this snarky bastard?!" Lovino questioned of his cousin. He didn't heed his own suggestion and spoke freely in Italian.

The blond glared at Antonio, the green flashing like lightning. "You told him we were _friends_?"

"_Are_ friends, actually," Antonio confessed, resorting to Italian in attempt to include Lovino in the conversation. This did, after all, involve his cousin's fate. "We... We _are _friends, _sí_, Arturo?"

The stranger scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Think whatever you want, Carriedo," he remarked, eventually coerced to speak in Italian as well. His eyes darkened suddenly, and his visage hardened into something grim. He opened the door wider and stepped aside for his guests to enter. "You ought to hurry inside. Not that I care or anything—don't get me wrong—but there's something sinister at work out there. You're safer in here." At this, Antonio hurriedly pulled Lovino into the Victorian house. The blond swiftly locked the door behind him and pivoted to face his guests. "I'm going to regret asking this, but why are you two gits chased by the Mafia?"

"I thought you would already know, Arturo," Antonio replied sheepishly.

"I don't keep tabs on everything that involves you, conceited little prick," the blond snapped before leading the way into the living room. Before he even gestured to the Victorian sofa, Antonio sunk into the seat, grimacing as his ass made contact with the wood below the cushion. The blond's eyebrow twitched in mild irritation as he seethed, "I have better things to do than keep track of you after our—after all of _that_." He sat next to Antonio in an armchair and ignored Antonio's complaint about his most uncomfortable furniture and how he needed to take a trip to IKEA.

"Tea," a soft voice announced monotonously. A boy of Oriental descent set a tray upon a coffee table and began to pour the steaming beverage into a single china teacup for the older male whom he had acknowledged. He didn't even seem to notice Lovino and Antonio, but the others certainly noticed him. His eyebrows were fairly large as well though they were nowhere near the blond's magnitude. He wore a burgundy _duangua_ with black piping and oversized sleeves that emphasised his petite stature along with brown trousers. His hair was somewhat choppy and shaggy but not at all rough on the eyes; it was somewhat endearing as it gave him more of an innocent, childish appearance. His dark eyes met with the blond and informed, "Jasmine tea."

"We don't have any Earl Grey, Jia Long?"

"Ran out," he answered curtly, "Raj and I couldn't find any." The boy then bowed his head and left the older male to his guests.

"Do you run a daycare or something, bastard?" Lovino grunted as he watched the boy scamper down the hall. "How many kids do you have here?"

"Something like that," the blond confessed before counting on his fingers. "Alfred, Matthew, Jia Long, Neeraja, Angelique—only five."

"_Only five_?! How old _are_ you?!"

"Around one thousand six hundred or so years. I've lost count," the blond replied absently as he served his guests tea. "Sugar? Milk?" He dropped three sugar cubes into his own cup with a dash of milk. Arching an eyebrow, Arthur nearly poured his guests a cup each until he realised that they wouldn't be answering his query any time soon.

"Seriously, bastard, how old are you? You don't look more than twenty-three."

"Then I suppose that I've been twenty-three for around sixteen hundred years," Arthur responded nonchalantly as he sipped from his cup. Carriedo had seemed to decline with one of his stupid smiles, and it didn't look as though Romano would give him an answer any time soon. "Allow me to introduce myself _properly_; I'm Arthur Kirkland, the... _Immortal_ King."

Lovino gave Antonio an incredulous look.

"Your friend is fucking insane."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "You say that, Romano, but I assure you I have more sanity than Carriedo does," he remarked dryly.

"Why the hell are you calling me 'Romano'?!"

"You _are_ the grandson of Romulus Vargas, correct?" Arthur took another delicate sip from his teacup and glanced briefly into Lovino's eyes before immediately pulling away his gaze, feigning disinterest. "I promised him that I would take care of his grandson when push comes to shove—for a price, of course. Your name may be Lovino Vargas, but your soul is stapled with the name Romano—man of Rome—and has a similar, if not the same, aura as Romulus Vargas. You ought to like that, considering your roots, but, eh, to each man his own, yeah?"

"You're twenty-three, bastard! You're not that much older than me, so stop sounding all high and mighty!"

Arthur sighed and snapped his fingers. All of a sudden, Lovino's lips were sealed shut no matter how desperately he attempted to protest. Arthur sipped his tea, ignoring Antonio's pleas to undo the spell. "I _can_ help you," Arthur remarked, idly directing his attention to Lovino, "if you want me to help you. I _did_ swear on my name after accepting Romulus' con—_request_." He had hurriedly corrected himself, but Lovino hadn't thought much of his words or even heeded them. "Your brother, Feliciano, isn't doing so well, is he? Again, I _can_ help you. Think about it." He flicked his wrist dismissively and pointed his forefinger up the stairs as soon as Lovino was able to snap at him for doing something that should have been impossible. "On the upper floor is an available room—should be, anyway. You ought to rest before they come. Angelique will show you the way."

At his call, an islander girl, no older than the other boys they had encountered, with richly tanned skin, honey coloured eyes, and long dark hair pulled into twin tails with red satin ribbons climbed down the stairs and smiled at the guests. "_Bonjour_, my name is Angelique," she introduced herself, curtsying lightly with practised ease. "If you would please follow me, I can show you around the upper level and to your room." She whirled around, the skirt of her turquoise sun-dress flowing lightly with the change in motion, and climbed back up the stairs. Antonio stood up immediately and stretched out a hand to Lovino, who promptly ignored it and stood on his own.

Arthur arched an eyebrow at the sight but did not so much make a comment. He returned to sipping his tea, waiting until his guests have disappeared upstairs entirely. Then Arthur stood onto his feet and marched to the front door. Pulling a piece of chalk from a drawer in a side-table, Arthur expertly drew a pentagram circumscribed by a circle, a pentacle, on the surface of his front door. Without picking up the end of the chalk from the surface of its medium, he wrote in longhand, _London_, before picking up the chalk and dusting off his hands. The design glowed with a faint lavender and misty blue colour before dimming and disappearing altogether.

Well, there went his Mediterranean vacation in the comfort of his own home.

* * *

"He's fucking crazy!" Lovino shrieked, throwing his bag onto one of the two twin beds before collapsing into the mattress. Unlike the hard as hell sofa, the bed was ten times more comfortable, and the pillow was fluffed with—oh my God—_feathers_. It was ridiculously soft, but like Lovino was going to compliment that insane bastard for finally doing one thing right. "How the hell do you know him?"

"I... I guess you could say I dated him," Antonio answered shortly. Lovino's jaw slacked and dropped. He buried his reddened face into the pillow, embarrassment blooding his body. He really didn't want to know about Antonio's love life; the Spaniard always had some embarrassing stories to tell. The last story he had told Lovino was about a girl with an overprotective brother who was determined to kill the older brunet. Oblivious to Lovino's obvious discomfort, Antonio continued explaining, "It didn't last for a long time—only a few months—three months, most likely— seven years ago. Arturo was always busy with... with his clients, I guess. He does... requests from others—kind of like odd jobs."

"Like what? Fixing the plumbing?" Lovino snorted.

Antonio ignored this comment and continued, "He's a real... His abilities are real, Lovi. I don't know if he really was a king in a past life, but... He's real. Impossible but real. You've experienced it, didn't you? His magic just then, I mean..."

"What... What is he?" Lovino muttered. "He said that he was sixteen hundred years old, an Immortal King, but... This is fucking _crazy_. What can he do for us? Why..." Why is he involved? Why him? "Forget it."

"Grandpa Rome also told me," Antonio informed quietly, "to go to Arthur when you or Feliciano or the both of you are in trouble. I was the one who had introduced them to each other seven years ago. They got along well, so I didn't think too much of it. Grandpa Rome knew what he was though, and he believed him. He didn't say much more on the topic, but Grandpa Rome could see spirits or the soul of a man, you know? He said that Arthur... Arthur doesn't have one. I don't know what he is. The moment I asked him, he broke up with me and said that everything is done."

"Heartless bastard."

Antonio laughed. "No kidding!" Calming down, he defended the Briton, "But he really is a good man, Lovi—a little sensitive under that insensitive exterior, but a good man. You can trust him, Lovi, but if you don't, then trust me—your childhood _amigo_."

The Italian couldn't argue with that. Instead, he decided to change the topic. "What's with all the kids running around anyway?" Lovino inquired as he heard thundering footsteps and playful shouts.

"I don't know either; I only met Alfredo and Mateo when I dated him," Antonio informed. "That was when I just graduated from secondary school in Madrid. He said that he was an adventurer when I met him in Spain, but who knows? Anyway, I didn't think the two of them as anything more than his little brothers in the beginning before I found out about all of this. Now I think they might be children he had adopted, but the strange thing is that Alfredo and Mateo haven't changed at all in the last seven years."

"How did you find out anyway?"

Antonio laughed again. "Like any good boyfriend, I walked into one of his practices! He was performing a summoning spell, apparently!"

"You're one hell of a crazy bastard, too, for taking this all so easily," Lovino retorted.

"Well, we all need a little magic in our lives, Lovi! Arturo is simply the embodiment of magic!" Antonio's smile faltered before slipping off his lips. "This scenario we have gotten ourselves in... is probably even more dangerous than before though—now that Arthur is involved—but he is the only one I know who can keep those guys trying to overthrow _you_ at bay."

There was gentle knocking on the door, and Antonio was quick to answer with a kind, "Please, come in!" The door knob jiggled slightly before twisting and turning, and the door cracked open a sliver wide enough for a child's eye to peer inside. They met with a small, polite smile painted delicately on pale lips as blue-violet eyes focused on the two Mediterranean men. The boy appeared much like Alfred, but his hair was longer and, because of the length, wavier. A single awkward curl fell in front of his face, and Lovino was instantly reminded of his younger brother. His heart ached with guilt and remorse even as the boy spoke,

"Arthur has requested that the two of you say indoors for a while," he informed quietly. "We have lost an hour of time."

"We went back in time?" Antonio inquired curiously, but the boy shook his head.

"No, Arthur isn't allowed to do that," he answered. "We just went back to London. Arthur says you'll probably need these—" Matthew held two cards in his hands, displaying them to the refugees "—to move around freely once it's safe—or safer." With that, he trotted into the room and handed Lovino and Antonio each a National Identity Card, one from Italy and the other from Spain. Glancing over the content, it seemed that Antonio's biographical information was valid, but Lovino was more weary of his own _Carta d'Identità_.

"Romano isn't my name... Who's Romano Kirkland?" Lovino asked of the boy, distracted from the fact that he had mentioned that they were no longer in Milan.

"Arthur said it wouldn't do if you used your real name," the boy replied. "I am Matthew Kirkland, and Alfred is Alfred Kirkland. Neeraja is Neeraja Kirkland, and Jia Long is Jia Long Kirkland while Angelique is Angelique Kirkland. Arthur takes care of us because we have nowhere else to go—like you. That's why you're Romano Kirkland."

"You're telling me that I got adopted by that crazy bast—_that man_?" Lovino's voice had heightened to a new pitch, obtaining a new octave. "And we're in _London_?! How can that be possible?!" Scrambling to the window between the two twin beds, Lovino pulled the curtains open and dropped his arms to his side in shock when he didn't recognise the scenery about them. There was no longer any woodland forest; instead, he was staring at some street foreign to him where all of the words were in English. A woman across the road noticed him and smiled politely before returning to tending to her flowers as a group of children played outside on the pavement. Lovino recognised one of them as Alfred, another one as Angelique, and the third as Jia Long. There was a fourth boy, whom Lovino assumed as the Neeraja of whom Matthew had spoken, with a heavily tanned complexion and rich dark hair and eyes. Matthew then excused himself to join his friends—or maybe his fellow siblings? "What... What the hell is this?"

"I told you, Lovi," Antonio spoke up, "that Arturo is the embodiment of magic." The Spaniard flashed a smile and mentioned, "You should rest. That is probably what Arturo had in mind when he saw you. I'll find him and ask him to explain to you later; I'm no good with this sort of thing."

With that, Antonio exited the guest room to search for the Briton, leaving Lovino to himself in the empty room. His heart was heavy with apprehension and trepidation as he wondered what the hell he had gotten himself into. The Italian collapsed back onto the bed and curled into himself, bringing his knees to his chest, and choked out amidst the freely falling tears, "_Nonno,_ what should I do now?" He didn't know how long he remained in that position, simply crying. "Everyone and everything just went to Hell... What do I do?"

"He says you should wipe your tears," someone from the door spoke sharply. When Lovino shot upright at the voice, smudging the lukewarm fluids spilling from his eyes with the back of his hand, to glare indignantly at the newcomer, he was surprised to hear Arthur's voice soften gingerly, "It's unsightly of an heir to cry in the presence of another."

"How the hell would you know?" Lovino spat.

Arthur sauntered over to Lovino's bedside and placed on top of the table an antiquated lantern. Inside danced a flickering white flame tinged with sparks of the faintest blue. "Normally, when I collect a soul, I would send it off to the River and have it travel its course," he informed, "but he said that I would meet you soon and wanted to wait until then. Rather, he wanted me to present this to you; it's your grandfather—well, his soul."

Lovino gave the blond an incredulous look before glancing at the white-blue flame. He had never seen such a fire before. However, the moment he peered into the fire, Lovino leapt backwards upon seeing, for the briefest moment, his grandfather's face smiling at him. It vanished just as soon as it appeared though, but that was enough to spark Lovino's curiosity.

"'The River'?" Lovino repeated inquisitively.

"Some might call it the River Styx," Arthur replied with a wry smile, "but its proper name is the River Vitae—the River of Life. It branches all over the world and leads to the soul's next destination, be it Heaven or Hell or even reborn into a new life, but regular humans cannot see it." Picking up the lantern, Arthur raised it in mid-air before it was whisked away, disappearing right before Lovino's eyes. The smile lingering on his lips softened into one of admiration and tenderness. "It's a trickle of light, sometimes a stream or a river, depending on the density, glowing with all of the other souls that have already been collected, like the effect of bioluminescence in the ocean waters, weaving all throughout the atmosphere. A blue flame is quite rare, especially in humans, as most dying flames are red-orange, but surely you already know that? It's like the measure of the temperatures of stars—brown, red, orange, yellow, white, and blue—and all of those lights together... Well, if you could see it—River Vitae, I mean—then you would see how beautiful it is. You don't have the Sight though, do you? Not like your grandfather, I presume."

"W-What are you?"

The smile on Arthur's lips vanished. "I can't tell you that," he answered.

It was the same question that led to his break up with Antonio, Lovino recalled at that moment. The brunet was sure that he had already messed up any chances of receiving an explanation, yet sensing his distress, Arthur sighed and sat beside Lovino on the bed. The Italian boy stared at him curiously, admiring his foreign features—pale skin, green eyes, blond hair—quite handsome, especially with the expressive eyes—before averting his gaze. What was he thinking? Admiring a man! He was supposed to be Lovino Vargas, oldest son of _La Famiglia Divina_! He couldn't admire a man—especially a crazy bastard like this one—because it was something of which was unheard!

"I could indulge you in a tale," Arthur remarked. "I suppose I owe you an explanation of sorts. Would you listen?"

"_Sì_," Lovino answered shortly. "I... I need answers to all of my questions. I don't know why that dumb tomato bastard brought me here or why he trusts you so much!"

"Dumb...? You're referring to Carriedo?" Arthur repeated amusedly with a devilish grin. "Although he really is not the brightest fellow I know, it is rather rude to say that of your cousin, isn't it?"

Lovino blushed, unaware that his usual tongue had slipped and gotten the better of him, ashamed and embarrassed. "Yeah, so what?" he grumbled, attempting to save what remained of his dignity. He couldn't lift his head to meet with that wide grin, heart pounding violently and frantically. "He is what he is. Besides, you don't really have much of a place to scold me about being rude!"

"I'll say! That might make us two of a kind then," Arthur mused humouredly. "I suppose I ought to start my story in Spain then—with how Carriedo and I met—for my explanation."

"W-Why do you keep calling him Carriedo?" Lovino asked quickly, interrupting Arthur yet again. "Antonio said that you two... dated?"

Arthur's cheeks flushed red as he answered hotly, "_Dated_?! That love-drunk wanker pulled me along with his wishes—doing whatever the bloody hell he wanted like he was shitfaced the entire time! It was the farthest thing from 'dating'! If it wasn't for Romulus Vargas, I would have killed him seven years ago for driving me to the brink of insanity!" He huffed indignantly. "If you keep asking me questions, Romano," Lovino's heart skipped a beat as the Englishman glared at him succinctly, "I can't tell you the story. Shut it for a moment or two." Lovino obliged with a nod of his head. Arthur sighed again and held out his hand towards Lovino. The Italian stared at it questioningly before the blond rolled his eyes and seized Lovino's hand himself. The younger man could hear the blood surging through his veins and his heart pounding against his chest in his ears, the thundering beats deafening to any other sounds, including Arthur's voice for a good while.

Flipping Lovino's hand so that the palm faced upwards, Arthur began tracing lines. Lovino observed the sharp contrast between their skin tones—porcelain and olive—as Arthur muttered, "The northern point is located in Reykjavik, Iceland, then in the south-west is the Falkland Islands, and to the far east is Tokyo." Arthur traced to the left. "The western-most point is Honolulu, and again to the south-east is Wellington and," Arthur dragged his hand upwards, completing what Lovino now recognised as a star, "back to Reykjavik. Everything within those five points is my domain; I can travel anywhere and tag anything, leaving my mark on the earth's surface. At the heart of it all—the very centre and core—is my home in London, where my powers are the strongest. The centre expands as far as Dublin, dusting the eastern coast of North America, Berlin, beyond Paris to Madrid, and Milan. I can travel almost instantaneously in the centre of this international pentagram without using much strength. To get to places outside of the centre, the farther away it is, the more power it takes. When we arrived to Madrid for the first time, I exhausted quite a bit of energy and left the house to look for a bloody café to rejuvenate. It was nothing compared to travelling to New Delhi or Hong Kong, but the bloody temperature was abnormally hot as well. Anyway, Carriedo worked at the café I found there, and he was even more irksome than the Seven Princes of the Underworld combined into one figure—at least, at that point in time.

"The bleeding twit had cancer, but he was smiling the whole damn time."

* * *

**A/N: **This story uses elements of fantasy and the supernatural or paranormal. The mythology used in this story, as gradually revealed later, is based on and drawn from Christian theology, Greek/Roman mythology, Buddhism and Hinduism mainly with some instances of Shinto, Feng Shui, Paganism, Wicca, and, to a lesser extent, Satanism after intensive studying (in part for a course I've taken and in part for this story). My knowledge of magic is pretty limited (being more of a science-fiction person...) and is mostly drawn from what I've seen in anime/manga, television series, movies, and novels as well as what I've researched with my friends. All in all, everything _is_ fictional. Don't try writing on your front door with chalk and trying to teleport to someplace else like Arthur did in the first scene. Anyway, I apologise in advance if the content offends anyone, but not for the content itself.

If the information loaded into the chapter is too much, I apologise, really, as well. It's one of my (bad?) habits as a writer... For example, my argumentative essays for my classes last at least nine pages. My informative papers are a little shorter, generally speaking, but stories depend on how much I get into the action and dialogue and descriptions, ha...

At any rate, I've always wanted to try writing this kind of story! I've never experimented much with fantasy/supernatural since it usually ends in failure, but I have a pretty good feeling about this one! (Since I'm pretty much done writing it... Just revising and editing right now.) To everyone who has already added this story to their favourites or have began following it, thank you so much! I hope you stick with me to the end!


	3. Chapter 2

**II: The Englishman**

"'You're not from around here, are you, _Señor_?' he had asked me in a heavily accented English. It was quite clear that he wasn't used to speaking the language, and to someone like me, it wasn't much of a surprise. He possessed an exotic appearance though, now that I think about it, he did not really appeal to me much. His skin was a deep tan as though he spent most of his life outdoors—unsurprisingly—but his head had donned a knit cap despite the sweltering weather. I did not see a trace of hair on his head through the cover, and I could also tell that he was lacking muscle mass. Chemotherapy, he would later tell me nearly a week or two after our first encounter, was the root cause. 'I recommend their _limonada,_' he had then said. 'It's quite delicious!'

"I had ordered a glass of iced lemon tea instead of his recommendation in Spanish after hearing him speak, preferring to speak the language native to the land rather than hear his sorry excuse for English, and once the waiter had arrived at _my_ table. He didn't frown or anything—kept smiling that ridiculous grin of his. My Spanish was passable, fluent maybe, but I wouldn't say perfect—certainly better than his English though. It was still enough to impress him, and he had remarked, 'Maybe you don't need my help, after all! I thought you were a helpless tourist!'

"There was a strange glimmer in his eyes, a tinge of fear, perhaps, and I had commented on it. 'You know what I am,' I had stated firmly. His resolve had wavered for a moment. Then I had realised that the very notion was rather ridiculous; no mortal could possibly know who or what I was—_am_, actually. 'Or, rather,' I had then corrected myself after my moment of epiphany, 'what I am not. It is quite clear, however, that you are searching for something, so what do you wish from me? You ought to know that the price is not cheap.'

"He had laughed then and waved the waiter for a glass of lemonade. He had removed his knit cap then, revealing his bald head that was slightly dented here and there, and responded, 'It runs in my family—extrasensory perception—so I can see that you are not normal. What you've said is true though. I do not know what you are, but you, on the other hand, definitely know what I have. It doesn't take a genius to figure it out, huh?' His smile had faltered. Even though he had known that I knew what he was mentioning, he had continued to explain, maybe to clarify any vague details, 'I have cancer—lung cancer. It seems that exposure to second-hand smoke truly is dangerous. My friends like to smoke, see. They don't smoke any more though—not around me at least. I have good friends... What I don't have is time.'

"The waiter had returned with our drinks, and we each had thanked him before waiting until he had left again to resume our conversation. After taking a sip of my tea, I had asked of the Spaniard, 'Do you want me to lengthen your time then? It is not impossible for me to do such a thing, but I'd prefer not to do it. There are people who would all scold me—one way or another—_especially_ if you cannot repay me. If you wish for such a thing, I will tell you now that, not only is the price is too great, but also that you cannot afford it. You will spend your death slaving away in Hell if you do take that risk.'

"He had cracked another silly grin. 'I haven't even spoke yet, _cariño_,' he had retorted playfully, attempting to keep himself cheery. 'I don't wish for time... You are practically telling me that it's close to impossible anyway. Simply... Accompany me for a little while.'

"I had almost pummelled him on the spot for the suggestion. 'What the bloody hell kind of person do you think I am?!' I had snapped. He had laughed and laughed and laughed, and I really would have ended his life there if he hadn't spoken so soon.

"'Just one date,' he had told me with a smile. 'Just grant a dying man this one wish.'

"'Why me?' Of course, I was sceptical. Presented with the possibility of having anything you could want in the world, the sleazy little wanker had chosen to go on a date with me—a man who had done nothing but belittle him. I could have easily found and arrange him a lovely little succubus—or an incubus, depending on his taste—if he had wanted me to do so, but he had requested me specifically.

"'There's something about you that's...different, and I am not talking about what you are or what you are not,' he had explained vaguely. 'Humour me.'

"Three months was all that he had. Three months of what was supposed to be my vacation was flushed down the toilet thanks to this insufferable git, and now he's gone and done it again with my vacation in Milan! Anyway, one day two months into our—our _arrangement_—when I was visiting him in his hospital room—as the cancer had progressed even more rapidly than he had thought, something about which he had teased me and jokingly blamed on my supernatural presence—I met your grandfather, Romano. Romulus Vargas, seven years ago, was a healthy man of a proud and enviable standing. I hadn't expected the Spanish pillock to be related to someone such as him—a powerful individual in the Surface World. It appeared that Romulus Vargas had hunted down his grandson after his disappearance to check on his health, and he was more than surprised to have seen me there.

"Romulus Vargas had pulled me aside and out of the hospital room. He had told me that he could see souls, and he had seen that I had none of my own. He wasn't wrong, but he did warn me to stay away from Antonio Fernandez Carriedo as though I was the bane of his health, the source of his cancer. I did smoke, and I do smoke occasionally. I never did around the prat though; it was like pouring salt on a slug or rubbing it into a wound. Antonio was already helpless. What cause did I have to worsen his health? ...well, other than possibly reaping his soul for my own benefit. Still, it wasn't like his soul in particular was anything special if we were to judge objectively; Carriedo's soul is still a blinding yellow. Of course, that wasn't what Romulus Vargas meant when he had said I was the bane of his health. He probably had known what I was, and if he did, then he was one of the only humans who knew.

"I hate to be accused, you see, without any slightest bit of evidence, so I had told him that Carriedo and I had an arrangement. It is common knowledge in the Otherside that demons are the only creatures that can truly restrict and restrain a soul—via contracts, of course. They're like collars, so wherever a human goes, the demon would know where he or she is as well. Because when you make a contract with a demon, you practically sell your soul and die an early, unnatural death due to the absorption of life energy that leads to the shortening of your lifespan. It is true that daemons in general thrive off life energy, and the Surface World is full of life—thus, the reason why daemons are attracted to it. The only daemons who really need to feed directly from humans are vampires, and, well, there is a means to do it though I will not explain to you so soon. You might be faint of heart.

"At any rate, Romulus Vargas was enraged, naturally, upon hearing what I had to say. In place of Antonio's soul, he had pleaded, knowing that he could not best the supernatural, to take a dying old man who has already sinned one too many times. Carriedo was still young, and he had a long life ahead of him—if I would save him. Now how could I refuse a man like Romulus Vargas? Despite his sins, his soul was beautiful—a beautiful, _beautiful_ blue-white, not quite a pure azure but rare nonetheless—so I had accepted his deal. I would save Carriedo's life, increasing his lifespan by the years Carriedo himself could not afford, in exchange for obtaining Romulus Vargas' soul whenever the old man would die. I would not reap him, I had decided, and would allow him to live his life as it would be to settle ties with his grandsons. He returned to Rome, and two years later, Carriedo would follow him after recuperating in Barcelona. I did not expect Romulus Vargas to die so soon seven years later."

Arthur quieted, his lips no longer smiling but neither frowning nor scowling either.

"Y-You're a demon? O-Or a d-daemon or whatever?" Lovino spluttered with disbelief in his eyes. A part of him wanted to edge away from the blond, but fear kept him rooted in his spot on the bed. Another part of him wanted to observe the Briton a little longer.

"Did I say I was? I don't believe I did say I was a demon. I explained what a demon does, but did I say I was a demon? I could have been telling your grandfather a lie as well; for all you could know, I might be an angel—though I may be too sinister for that role. Still, I won't deny that I am a _daemon_." At this, he grinned wickedly, laughing bitterly, before standing up. Judging by the almost feral glint in his dangerously bright emeralds, Lovino decided against asking Arthur what the difference between a demon and a daemon was. That was a question for next time—if there was one. "Now you know the story between Carriedo and me and how I've met your grandfather," he mused. "What story do you have for me, Romano? What is it that you need from me? Your grandfather sent you here, did he not? I know naught beyond that; I cannot look into the hearts of man—only their souls."

Lovino pressed his lips into a grim line, uncertain of where or how to begin his story. "You know what kind of person _Nonno_ is—_was_—then; he was an obnoxious bastard—always laughing, drinking, eating, and sleeping, sleeping _around_, I mean—but an okay bastard. He was a family man though, and he made sure that everyone was well, healthy, and, most importantly, _alive—_but... But..." Lovino scowled deeply, his fingers clenching into vengeful fists, deep rage and fury with which Arthur was familiar began filling his eyes, darkening the amber pools of his hazel eyes and the emerald slivers. "Those bastards _betrayed him_!" Irate tears flowed from his tears, but Lovino didn't seem to notice them. He spat bitterly, "They might as well have killed him with what they've done! After _Nonno_ kicked the bucket, they held his precious Feliciano hostage to chase me out of the house and tried to kill me while they were at it—to make sure that there was no more heir. That tomato bastard helped me out of a tight spot, but I don't know what happened to my brother. I don't think they would kill him; even as their hostage, they love him too much since he's a cheerful idiot. Still, I need him to stay safe and alive first and foremost. I couldn't give less of a damn about that traitorous family." Lovino cracked a wry smile. "Feliciano is an idiot, after all, with little to no common sense. He's always been trusting of others, so he... He's probably really scared right now." Lovino turned to face Arthur. "Can you do that for me? Bring my brother here with your teleportation trick? You said that you could go anywhere in the world within that star-thing, right?"

Arthur exhaled sharply—not quite a resigned sigh but exasperated nonetheless—before directing a firm gaze to Lovino. "Are you familiar with equivalent exchange or, perhaps, the conservation of mass and energy? If you are, then you would know that you cannot create something from nothing, and you cannot destroy all traces of it either—unless you're God," the blond informed quietly. "In the same way, teleportation works as a matter of transporting particles from one area to another. Considering that I do not know what your brother looks like or his exact location, I cannot safely extract him from his hold and move him here with you. My international pentagram works in such a way that warp locations are made of another array and collection of pentacles meticulously located and situated for precision and accuracy. If we can transport him safely to one of these locations, then I can bring him here to you."

"In other words," Lovino deduced slowly, "you're telling me that we have to go back to Rome...?"

"If we are to fetch your brother," Arthur agreed, "then, yes, we have to return to Italy."

Lovino grimaced, knowing the consequences of such an action. "And have the whole entire Mafia on our damn tail?"

"They already are, dearest Romano," Arthur remarked. Lovino shuddered at the sound of the endearment spoken so casually without so much of an ounce of emotion. "They'd simply be closer. I don't plan on returning directly to Italy so soon, however. It would be dangerous at this rate since the Mafiosi would still be on high alert. Of course, knowing Carriedo, he would never allow anything to happen to you, but even both he and I know that it's impossible to protect you by himself. There is only so much two men can do, after all." A smirk crept onto his lips. "And then there were three. Of course, the ideal number is seven."

"Seven?" Lovino repeated dubiously. "Why seven? Having so many people would endanger the plan, wouldn't it? There's no guarantee that everyone would survive or keep the whole scheme a secret!"

"There are seven colours of the rainbow, seven seals of the apocalypse, seven wonders of the world, seven seas, seven sins, seven virtues, seven chakras, Seven Princes of the Underworld and Seven Archangels of the Heavens, and, most importantly, the ever-so-lucky triple seven," Arthur explained half-heartedly with a sheepish grin. "Isn't that good enough then? The number seven?"

Lovino narrowed his eyes at the Briton. "Are you basing this all on intuition? I really don't need us risking our asses because of your instincts," the Italian boy remarked dryly.

"Well," the ethereal being responded nonchalantly, "if wisdom comes with age, then I should hardly ever be wrong by now."

"Right... And where are we going to find four other bastards to help us?"

"Easy," Arthur answered brusquely, "the Otherside." He flashed Lovino a brief smile, and for a moment the younger man thought he saw a glimmer of concern in his electric eyes. "Get some rest; you'll need the strength to keep up. In the meanwhile, I have to get to work now that the two of you are here." The Englishman pushed himself off the bed and onto his feet. "If you need anything, call for me or one of the children. Make yourself at home,_ Romano Kirkland_." Arthur derived great pleasure from the reddening of the boy's cheeks. "Don't get too carried away with exploring London; if you leave the manor, have one of the children escort you. I can't promise you absolute safety simply because you are currently outside of Italy."

"Don't treat me like a child," he grumbled.

"I can't help it," Arthur teased lightly. "I _am_ at least 1581 years older than you. Everyone is a child in comparison to me." A bitter smile graced his lips as he left Lovino to his own devices.

* * *

Crimson eyes glinted underneath the light before the young man grimaced. For the past few hundred years, he had always been particularly sensitive to the sunlight no thanks to a certain curse that had been graciously bestowed upon him to restrict his actions during daytime. Yawning and stretching his limbs, revealing his sharp canines, the figure crept from the shadows dressed in a light jacket covering a black muscle shirt with the hood pulled over his head, a pair of ragged jeans and worn runners, both of which were stained with dirt and grass and caked with mud and blood, and a pair of shades covering his crimson eyes. He ran a pale hand through his silvery hair and barked to the other three lingering behind him, "Hey, let's get moving!" His nose crinkled upon picking up the scent yet again. Subsequently, the young man cracked a smirk and snapped, "It's the smell of tea, burnt scones, and spray paint! There's only one person that could possibly be!"

"_Bruder_, you have all the time in the world to meet with him again," reprimanded a taller blond. Had the blond not been inexperienced, the young man who had first spoken would have had no qualms relinquishing his title to his adopted little brother, of whom he was incredibly fond—fond enough to give the pup his own last name even though, admittedly, there was not much use for such a name any more. Honestly, he didn't want the responsibilities in the first place and would have rather spent the rest of his life chasing cute little birds and the scent of wurst; however, because he was the strongest of the pack, the duties as the Head of the Pack rested upon his shoulders. "We should stick to our patrol route and follow to the north."

"Honestly, Gilbert," chastised a young brunette who crossed her arms underneath her robust bosom, "you ought to act more like the Head Alpha and be like Ludwig for a change. There's nothing to see in Bromley but a few football clubs, and we don't have time to play!"

"Don't get your panties in a knot, Lizbet, because you couldn't beat me—not at football, not at being alpha," Gilbert retorted dryly. He quickly dodged one of her enraged strikes and slipped into the crowd. The others had mild difficulties attempting to follow him. "If Artie is out on the streets again instead of that cluttered manor of his, that can only mean that he's stirring up trouble." A toothy grin overwhelmed his lips, dominating all of his emotions, as he declared, "I want a piece of his action. It _has_ to be something good!"

Behind him, a slender man sighed and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Really, this is ridiculous, Gilbert," he stated firmly as his onyx eyes flashed with irritation. "The Council would scold us for neglecting our responsibilities as the Gatekeepers."

"Then," Gilbert remarked, "don't follow me. Don't mind me. Just let me do what I want and go your own separate ways with the pack." Nobody responded to his provocations. After all, his suggestions were impossible; it had been ingrained within them over the centuries to follow the words of the Head Alpha. The only way they could disobey Gilbert was if someone came along to overthrow him from power—and then kill him to ensure their position as the new head. Even though this Head Alpha was boisterous and reckless, he was still clever and strong with his years of military experience. Nobody questioned his authority despite the latter's complaints of boredom in the longevity of their daemonic lives. At any rate, this was the system that hadn't even weathered in the slightest tiny bit throughout all of history. It was tradition, and everyone followed it wordlessly—without a doubt, without a second thought, without a moment's hesitation. "Of course, this is my bone to pick with that damn _Arschloch_. I would rather have you guys continue as usual; Lutz, you're in charge for the time being until I come back."

The tall blond blinked in confusion. "W-What are you saying?!"

"It's temporary leadership; it'll do you some awesome practice," Gilbert said dismissively. "If anyone so much questions you, then beat them up. Have at it! And if all fails, then rely on Elizaveta or Roderich for all I care! Just don't screw up!" Gilbert paused in his steps, smirk widening. He didn't turn to face his younger brother, whom he was certain could clearly hear the amusement in his voice, "By the time I return, you better have gotten stronger. Then we'll have a match and see who's the true Alpha." Because, really, Gilbert thought that he didn't deserve the position, it would have been better to leave the title to Ludwig. After all, Gilbert had been cursed to be a hybrid—an unclean and unsightly mutt—that could hardly represent his pack.

And he played favourites. He'd rather leave the pack to Ludwig's hands than Elizaveta's or Roderich's. After all, Gilbert had raised Ludwig himself from when he was a young pup, and there was no one he trusted more than his protégé—not even the Awesome Arthur Kirkland. That was why when he encountered the man with mousy blond hair and electric green eyes in a dark alley, tracing his hand over one of the latter's earliest artworks on the brick wall, he greeted him wearily, "Out of your cave, I see, _Mein König_." His address to the older daemon was sardonic and bitter, teasing and taunting almost, although there was a tinge of nostalgia and relief in his tone. "It's awesome to see that you're well."

Arthur Kirkland appeared a man of average stature with an ethereal appearance. His hair glimmered by capturing the rays of light that peaked through the darkness in the alley like the pale gold of the moon, and his expressive eyes churned with a storm unknown to Man in general. He was dressed, however, like the gentleman he claimed to be in _this_ life. He donned a beige blazer made of light fabric with a dark brown waistcoat buttoned over a white shirt that had a collar fastened with a tie the colour of traditional red wine as well as a pair of slacks and leather Oxfords. The last time Gilbert had seen him, a few decades ago in the eighties or the seventies, Arthur was one of the youthful, rebellious street punks and anarchists littering the London streets. Then, previously in the forties, he was a pilot in the Royal Air Force, dressed much more raggedly than now, and the inexplicable euphoria of being able to fly freely without having to heed lurking eyes tarnished whatever misery and agony that haunted his being. Before that, he was a captain of a ship—known to most as a pirate—and before that he was an inventor and scientist. Before then, he was a witch doctor, though the blond had preferred the term "apothecary," and before then he was known to the world as a warlock—though he most adamantly was not a warlock—and had been attempted by the people to be burnt at stake. What laid before his long life as part of the Otherside was unknown to Gilbert, but the albino knew him for almost five hundred years—for almost Gilbert's entire life of longevity. Because of this, the Alpha considered him one of his greatest friends and allies despite the fact that such connections could mean fatality in their kind of existence. For Gilbert, depending on the blond's reaction, they could rekindle their friendship through this encounter. Otherwise, they would have to go their separate ways again—with Arthur disappearing under everyone's nose.

"Gilbert," Arthur addressed the albino with a subtle crinkle in his eyes. He didn't offer much of a smile, but the corners of his lips curved upwards by the slightest degree of an angle. "I assume that you are doing well yourself."

"You're looking spiffy," Gilbert commented dryly as he leaned against the wall. His crimson eyes fell upon the street art Arthur had done in the seventies—the image of a homeless, starving man stroking the muzzle of a white horse. Unseen to the human eye was the faint traces of a glowing pentagram inscribed within a circle upon which they stood. There were four other designs to accompany this one, another in the north-eastern part of London (Havering), in the south-western part of London (Kingston upon Thames), in the north-western part of London (Hillingdon), and in the northern part of London (Enfield). At the centre of these five points was Arthur's manor. "I never understood why you couldn't just mark where your magic circle was, but you had to spray paint all over it as well."

"This pentacle is over a thousand years old," Arthur remarked, tapping his feet against the aforementioned magic circle. "Humans have built over it and then destroyed on top of it—rinse and repeat a few times—before I had a chance to retouch it. I nearly gave up on the entire venture and almost forgot about its location—all of them, actually."

"But you did forget," Gilbert pointed out, "until the twenties and forties of the twentieth century came around."

"Shit happened that reminded me of how dangerous and disastrous humans could be," Arthur agreed. "I started looking for where I placed my old pentacles to make travelling more efficient after the first World War and retouched them. After the second World War, however, the German Blitzkrieg nearly decimated everything. I didn't get around to doing anything until everything began to calm. I finished everything in the seventies, but even then... Insinuating something like a Cold War or intervening in another country's civil war... Humans are quite foolish, aren't they?" Arthur cracked a smile. "Who needs a damn thing like blood ties and relations and connections? Everyone should just live independently."

"You keep those children around, don't you?" Gilbert remarked. "I don't think you have much of a place to judge when it comes to 'blood ties and relations and connections' then. Besides, if humans lived in a lawless state, then it would be like Hell, wouldn't it? Even the Underworld has a form of government—some sort of monarchy or aristocracy or whatever. I can't tell any more. Anyway, anarchy doesn't suit human civilisation; it would never work for them. They're social creatures."

"So are lycanthropes," Arthur retorted pointedly. "You hardly go anywhere without your pack; where are they now?"

"I sent them away," Gilbert responded nonchalantly with a wicked grin. "I wanted to talk to you; you should be honoured for being graced with my awesome presence."

Arthur rolled his eyes and countered, "It should be the other way around, bloody wanker." He crossed his arms and sighed. "Do you remember the human Antonio Fernandez Carriedo from seven years ago—in Madrid?"

"I visited you once and met a man with cancer, but then I never saw you again until now," Gilbert replied shortly. "Was that him?"

"That was—_is_, actually—him," Arthur answered tersely. The thought of Antonio soured his tongue as he recalled horrid memories of the suffocating wanker. "He ended up surviving." As though to explain why, the blond raised his left hand in front of him and held it to the sky. A sliver of light peered through the cracks his fingers formed, and Arthur could feel the faintest tickle as the energy seeped past his pale skin. "His grandfather negotiated with me—a life for a life—but it was quite unfair," the Briton mentioned. "The man who nullified Carriedo's deal had a single soul that was worth a thousand men's—Romulus Vargas." Gilbert was silent, holding the name in awe. Even among the daemons and the creatures of the shadows, that singular human was a sight to behold. Most stayed away from him with a sort of mild respect for the impressive human who had managed to accomplish so much in his lifetime, conquering cities and even countries within the shadows right under the governments' noses. "You might have heard about the entire ordeal. Everyone was buzzing about the palace like bees when I visited to speak with the Scribe." Yes, that was true. Gilbert had to return to the Underworld occasionally to give reports on his patrols, and the news spread across the entire realm like wildfire. "Incredible though his soul was and is, a man is but a man. He died not too long ago. Thus, his so-called family had an uprising regarding the succession to his legacy, and Antonio escorted the heir to my manor while I was enjoying my holidays in Milan."

"You're always on vacation," Gilbert remarked. The werewolf yawned and focused his eyes on the older daemon. "So? What does that have to do with why you're here with a bunch of your fancy magic—" or was it magical? "—chalk?"

"Part of Romulus Vargas' contract was that I took care of his grandsons, Antonio, Lovino, and Feliciano, in the case that something has happened to him or with the family," Arthur replied curtly as he shuffled through his briefcase to retrieve the aforementioned chalk. He rolled up the sleeves of his blazer and knelt on the ground, retracing the pattern of the pentagram, darkening the ring that circumscribed the five points, and muttering a few incantations, while Gilbert watched with vague interest. "I keep my word; I've always had."

"That's what makes you different from the others and much more awesome as well," Gilbert remarked with a grin. "You're pretty damn respected."

"I was," Arthur retorted. "After keeping away from the Underworld for so long and returning in only that one instance, I doubt any other daemon still respects me."

"There's still Franny."

Arthur snorted derisively. "That bloody frog _respects me_? He just chases after my bleeding arse—ever since that damn coronation as well! That's over a thousand years, you know?"

"He respects you more than you'll ever know, Art, because he loves you the most out of all of us," Gilbert teased light-heartedly. "There's also Mathias and Lukas, Vladimir, and Kiku."

"Mathias, Lukas, and Vladimir are friends like yourself," Arthur commented. Gilbert felt a surge of pride well in his chest; Arthur had always implied that he had no friends. In truth, there were many who admired the blond even though the beginning of his legacy and reign was rough and tough. "Kiku is my familiar and my servant. He doesn't count either; he _has_ to respect me. It's in his job description. That also applies to Mathias and Francis since they are a part of the Council."

"They also do it out of their own will," Gilbert assured the blond the moment that he finished with the pentacle. "Do you want me to escort you to your next one? I'm sure we have plenty to discuss regarding your current predicament."

"If you want to tag along, then go ahead," Arthur responded dismissively as he packed his bag and stepped out of the alleyway. The older daemon cracked a smile and added teasingly, "As long as you'll join me for dinner."

"You're not cooking, are you?"

"Bugger off."

"Last time I tried your cooking, I almost died!"

"But you didn't, you inconceivable little git! You can't _die_ either! Your existence would simply have been erased!"

"I have would have been erased if Kiku and the kids hadn't told you to heal me!"

"Shut it! Not another word from you! My cooking's not that bad!"

"No, but it _is_ bad!"

* * *

Lovino climbed down the stairs and headed into the kitchen after his stomach had defied him and demanded to be fed with a thunderous growl. The moment he opened the fridge, however, he felt a cool metal press against his neck. If it hadn't been for the fact that his body had frozen out of instinct and terror, he would have gulped and grazed his skin against the thin blade.

A steely, emotionless voice asked of him flatly and brusquely, "Who are you?"

His first instinct was to reach for the nine-inch Italian stiletto he kept hidden in his jacket with which to defend himself, but it seemed that the newcomer had anticipated this and quickly snatched Lovino's wrist, pinning his arm behind his back. Lovino hissed as he was slammed against the flat surface of the wall, and the flat of the blade of the long sword pressed closer to his neck. Again, his assailant inquired of his identity, and Lovino hesitated in his response, "Lo—"

His answer was abruptly cut off as a childish voice whined, "Kiku! That's Artie's guest, Romano! Romano Kirkland!"

The blade was soon retracted from his throat, and there was a sound of the weapon being sheathed in its scabbard. Lovino was quickly released, collapsing to the ground, and took his chances to glare at his (former?) assailant. His hazel eyes were quick to widen with surprise upon falling onto the sight of a young Oriental man dressed in traditional garbs with neatly trimmed black hair and dark, almost soulless eyes. That was normal enough, he supposed, but what had caught him off-guard was the pair of white ears atop his head and the nine tails protruding from his backside.

"He appears to be older than the children that His Majesty normally adopts," replied the Japanese man, his English lightly accented. His dark eyes never left Lovino's form. Likewise, Lovino's eyes never left the sword strung against his hip. "He is still a human as well."

Alfred hummed lightly as he swung his legs back and forth on top of the kitchen counter. "I don't really get it either, but Romano is staying with us now!" the American boy chirruped. "Right, Mattie?" Lovino hadn't spotted the quieter brother until that moment, and he was surprised to have only noticed the boy right then, clinging onto the fabric of the Japanese's man's midnight blue _hakama_, staring desperately at the older man.

"His Majesty has not returned yet?" Kiku inquired of the two boys.

"Not yet," piped up Angelique from the kitchen entrance with a velvet bag in her hands, "but we're hungry, Kiku! Can we start eating without him?" Behind her was Jia Long and Neeraja leading Antonio into the kitchen.

"It is only three o'clock," Kiku responded politely. "We cannot wait until he returns, Alfred-sama?" His eyes fell upon the Spaniard, and he gave the latter a polite bow. "It has been a while, Carriedo-san."

"Kiku, I see that you've met my cousin, Lovino," Antonio greeted the Japanese man, standing awkwardly to the side. It was patent that the Spaniard didn't quite know how to interact with Kiku. "Where's Arturo?"

The children trekked to the round dining table with Angelique's bag and a map of London. Spilling a multitude of glass marbles onto the map from the velvet bag, the spheres began to roll about idly until the five children joined hands in a circle. Their eyes closed, and suddenly the marbles began to roll around in a line, forming a perfect circle, that strayed to the northern part of London. "Enfield," Angelique replied shortly with a smile, opening her honey coloured eyes. "He is in Enfield!"

"Is that so?" Antonio responded just as cheerily the moment the marbles' movements began to falter. Helping the children collect them into the bag, he added, "Thank you for your help!"

"If he is in Enfield," Kiku mentioned, "then he should be home by seven. Shall we dine then?"

"But waiting four hours takes forever!" Alfred whined with a pout on his lips.

"It is enough time to shop for groceries and cook," Lovino quickly added before the boy would burst with tears. It really appeared that—at the time—Alfred would start crying at any given moment. Lovino didn't fare well with tears; he could barely comfort his own brother when the latter cried. Of course, he didn't realise then that Alfred almost always pouted and threw a mild tantrum. Nevertheless, Alfred brightened some and even more so when Lovino suggested that they could help in the kitchen.

Rather, the boy immediately pulled Lovino along to the front door, mentioning that the markets closed at five and that it was better to hurry. Latching onto Lovino as well were Matthew, Angelique, Jia Long and Neeraja, all of whom had wide, bright eyes glittering with stars at the mention of the market. Kiku cracked a smile at the scene and saw them to the front door, where the children were talking about how it would rain and shrugging on their little raincoats and Wellingtons. When they saw that Lovino had no protective gear from the rain, they shoved an umbrella into his arms before escorting Lovino to the bus stop and all the way to the market south of the manor.

"How do you know if it is going to rain?" Lovino inquired in his accented English the moment they stepped off the bus. By now, he knew not to question their abilities and the existence of the supernatural or paranormal. Still, he was a sceptic. Glancing at the sky—still a clear blue—Lovino quickly mentioned, "It looks sunny to me."

"England has weird weather," Alfred explained, speaking at a rate of one million words a mile, perfectly oblivious to the fact that Lovino comprehended very little. He flailed his arms, gesticulating, as he rambled, "One minute we're playing outside when it's sunny and clear and then the next minute it's pouring cats and dogs! But Artie likes it like that, I guess, because he kinda just smiles when it rains."

Lovino managed to catch the gist of what the child had just spoken and responded tentatively, "Why does he smile when it rains? Does he like the rain?"

Angelique crinkled her nose. "He hates it," she replied shortly. "He always says that he hates it, but he still smiles. I think he actually really does like the rain though."

Arthur Kirkland, Lovino decided at that moment, is a strange creature.

"What shall we eat for dinner?" Lovino asked of the children as they began to roam the market. His eyes lingered over the fresh fruit and vegetable stalls.

"Hamburgers!"

"Pancakes!"

"Fish!"

"Peach buns!"

"Curry!"

Lovino regretted asking as they began to bicker among themselves. Head pounding violently with the beginnings of a migraine, the Italian snapped, "_Chigi_! We are going to eat _fettuccine alla sugo d'umido_ or _ragù di pollo_, _capito_?" Feliciano has always liked pasta, so maybe these brats would, too.

They immediately quieted before Alfred asked of their new friend, "Oh, yeah! I just remembered! What's _fettuccine Alfredo_? It sounds like my name."

"You have never eaten _fettuccine Alfredo_?"

Alfred shook his head.

"Then we will have that for dinner, too."

The atmosphere gradually lightened again as the children helped Lovino scour the market for the necessary ingredients; however, by the time they finally found the first item Lovino needed, they encountered their first obstacle. Lovino only had euros. After everything that has happened, exchanging currency had been one of the last things on the Italian's mind, and the stall owner was not exactly pleased as Lovino shuffled through his wallet and only managed to pull out euro after euro. He couldn't write up a cheque or use his card either; he couldn't have the _famiglia_ track him down in London streets.

"How much does he owe you?" a vaguely familiar voice inquired from behind the Italian boy. Lovino whipped his head back and found himself staring into polished jade orbs—polite and amiable. "I'm their guardian," he explained to the stall owner before pulling out his own wallet from the back pocket of his trousers. That was a sufficient answer for the clerk, and after naming his price, Arthur paid him in full. Of course, he left the bags for Lovino to carry. The two of them lingered behind the energetic children bouncing around the market after Arthur warned them not to wander too far from his sight and to hold hands so not to become separated. "I know that they're excited to be out of the manor since they don't get to wander far from the centre. I'm sorry if they were a handful."

"_Eh, che cosa_?" Lovino responded bewilderedly.

"You've probably noticed by now," Arthur clarified, "that they're not ordinary children. In fact, they're much older than you. Neeraja is the oldest at almost three centuries, Alfred and Matthew are almost two hundred years old, Jia Long is around eighty years, and Angelique is approximately seventy-six. Nevertheless, they've been stuck as a child for _ages_, and even as time passes, they'll always be stuck with the same mentality. They can't grow any more, so they can't mature either. These children are not quite what you call ghosts; it would be more accurate to call them guardian spirits." He sighed. "When I found them, they were bound to the place of their death. I had them extracted and bound to my magic until I could find a way for them to move onto their next lives. Naturally, that means they aren't able to wander so far from me or wherever my manor may be, and their presence today means that I wasn't successful in what I was trying to do for them." He gave Lovino a wry smile. "Being stuck with me is practically being damned in Hell."

"They like you though," Lovino remarked pointedly. He wasn't sure what made Arthur believe in his last statement, but the Italian knew at the very least that the children didn't resent or spite him. "They speak fondly of you."

"We've had ages to get to know each other," Arthur assured dismissively. "In return for their limited freedom, they do such things as to protect the manor from invaders and predict the weather or if I'll have any visitors for me and, well, keep me company. Oh, that reminds me—" Arthur took hold of the umbrella in Lovino's hand before opening it and promptly shielding them from the first drops of rain "—they're _never_ wrong about the weather—unlike the bloody weathermen." He gestured to the bags Lovino was holding in his arms. "From your being here and your purchases, I'm assuming that you're cooking dinner?"

"_Sì_," the Italian answered stiffly, caught off-guard by the action. In order to prevent himself from getting wet, he had to inch closer to the blond. Instead of feeling a warm body, however, Arthur Kirkland was freezing cold.

"You don't have to do so, you know?" Arthur queried dubiously. "You're our guest. I could have had my familiar prepare dinner for us."

"You are already hiding me from _la famiglia_," Lovino insisted. "It is the least I can do to show my gratitude."

Arthur arched a sceptical eyebrow but did not press any further on the topic. If Lovino shared any characteristics with his grandfather, then he did not want to incite the stubbornness of the Vargas family here in public. Instead, the older blond gentleman accompanied Lovino with his grocery shopping, insisting that he ought to pay for the meal at the very least. On the way home, Arthur smiled fondly at his children as they jumped into puddles, giggling in the rain.

"Can they get sick?" Lovino asked softly.

"Not at all," Arthur responded just as quietly. "They are not alive—not any more. I found Neeraja as a street rat loitering about India during one of my expeditions. The next time I saw him, he was lingering about the area where a boy was rumoured to have crushed underneath debris of an old building. Alfred and Matthew were children who had been killed by vengeful natives in colonial America, and they were bound to a tree where they had often played. Jia Long was caught amidst an attack from the Japanese navy during World War II and had remained amongst the rubble and debris of Hong Kong in the aftermath. Angelique is the illegitimate daughter of a... an _acquaintance_ of mine and had passed away in a house fire with her mother long ago."

"How terrible..."

Arthur gave him another bitter smile. "There's nothing we can do about it; I cannot turn back time for them and risk altering the fabric of space and time, paradoxes and all that," the Briton muttered. Before Lovino could prompt the older man about why he was telling him of their past, the blond justified himself, "If you are just as inquisitive as your grandfather, I might as well tell you and save myself from any possible badgering. I've nothing to lose, and neither do they. For them, at least, they have their friendship."

"And you?" Lovino questioned sceptically.

Arthur was quiet for a moment before announcing that they had arrived home. It was half past five, and Alfred made it known to the world that he was starving. The children bolted inside. Within mere seconds, Arthur took care to warn them not to track mud into the manor. Everyone but Alfred seemed to reply, the latter dashing into the kitchen past Kiku and Antonio. Upon noticing Arthur, Kiku bowed lowly and welcomed him home, and Arthur returned his actions with a smile. "We have a guest coming for dinner," he informed his familiar. "I hope you don't have an aversion to wolves."

Kiku gave a polite inclination of his head and replied stiffly, "It is to my knowledge that wolves can also kill foxes as their prey, Your Majesty, usually in disputes regarding food, but if it is Beilschmidt-sama of whom we are speaking, then I have no qualms with his presence. It is not as though I have a choice in the matter, do I?"

Arthur gave his familiar another one of his wry smiles.

"Gilbert is coming?" Antonio inquired of the blond with a smile.

Directing his attention to Lovino, Arthur remarked, "I hope you have enough to feed everyone."

"Bastard!" Lovino shrieked, and Arthur smirked at the fireworks display in front of him. "You could have told me that you had guests coming over!"

"It's just one guest I'm expecting, and, well, he's a carnivore anyway—not much of a picky eater." The blond chortled lowly, sending shivers down Lovino's spine. "You could set a fowl loose in the backyard, and he'll be happy to chase it down and kill it. After all, he is a predator. If you make anything that involves vegetation, he probably won't even touch so much of a morsel."

* * *

**A/N:**

"Did I say I was?" - It's not the first time that Arthur's said this sort of line in one of my stories, ha. Usually, it entails that he is hiding something, but, hmmm, I wonder what! (Well, I know, of course, by now...)

Alfred, Matthew, Angelique (Seychelles), Jia Long (Hong Kong), and Neeraja (India) are what I call "guardian spirits," which I've based off the Japanese _zashiki-warashi_. In Japanese folklore, a _zashiki-warashi_ is a _yokai_ that is something like a child. You care for it like one, at least, and it also plays little harmless pranks on house guests and cause mischief like a child as well. Too much attention drives a _zashiki-warashi_ away, but when it stays, it can bring a residence great fortune. Once it leaves, however, well...

Kiku is Arthur's familiar, which is defined typically as a demon that "supposedly attends and obeys a witch, often said to take the form of an animal." I've altered the meaning somewhat to refer to a familiar as a humble servant. In my mind, familiars may assume the form of an animal, but they're like shapeshifters to me. Specifically, Kiku is a nine-tailed fox currently assuming a humanoid form in this chapter.

Sorry if it's a little slow here, but the story will gain some momentum after a few concepts get out of the way and after the main supporting characters are introduced. Gilbert _is_ one of them! Arthur said there would be a focus on seven, remember? Just one or two more introductory chapters and everything will go by much faster!

To everyone who has reviewed, favourited, or followed in the last chapter and in the prologue, thank you very much!


	4. Chapter 3

**III: The Wolf, the Viking, and the Frog**

It was the first time Lovino had to dine with five spirits of deceased children, a humanoid butler who may have been a samurai in his past life, a mystical bastard claiming to be an English gentleman, and his tomato-obsessed cousin. Not to mention, the mystical, magical bastard had a guest over, and his aforementioned guest was an obnoxious, narcissistic, egotistical bastard as well. Lovino eyed the albino man sitting across with him with unabashed and indiscreet disdain, forking his pasta idly as he watched the "carnivore" devour one chunk of meat after another. To his left sat Arthur at the head of the table, and Antonio and Angelique were on his right. Alfred sat beside Gilbert and across from Angelique while Matthew was seated between his brother and their albino guest, directly across from Antonio. Kiku stood behind Arthur, who was seated across from Jia Long and Neeraja, playing the perfect role of the ever so diligent butler.

"Italian food is damn good! Honestly, I really don't mind cooked food because it really doesn't feel like a hunt at all, but Italian food is just so _damn good_!" Gilbert Beilschmidt, as Lovino regretfully came to know, crowed as he ripped apart another Italian sausage. "There's no adrenaline in consuming cooked food though!"

"Yes, yes, yes," Arthur mumbled, rubbing his temples with the middle finger and thumb on his left hand, as he willed away an oncoming headache, "now calm down, you bloody git. Nobody here is a predator like you are. Romano, Carriedo, and the children wouldn't understand what you're trying to say, blasted bigot."

"_Ja, ja, ja, Mutter_, I'll try to calm down the awesomeness that is me. It's a shame that the wolves on the mainland are being reduced to scavengers though, and I always find it a little unnerving to be in Britain since, well, wolves are practically extinct here," Gilbert commented offhandedly as he chewed on a piece of chicken he had picked from the pasta set in front of him. The noodles were untouched, and he whispered (not quite discreetly) to Matthew, telling the boy that he could have them if he wanted it. The wolf turned his attention to Kiku. "Are you having a tough time finding food, too, Keeks?"

"Not at all, Beilschmidt-sama," the fox spirit answered politely.

"We've known each other for a couple hundred years, and you're still addressing me with '-sama'? My rank and social status isn't _that_ high on the list compared to Art here, no need to be polite, Keeks," Gilbert commented. "I mean, you call Toni here by '-san,' right? Isn't that good enough for me? We are friends, aren't we? Anyway, how come it's not difficult for you to find any food?"

To a conditioned eye that was well-adjusted to Kiku's behaviour, it was obvious that the Japanese man was somewhat unnerved by the presence of a werewolf—one who clearly enjoyed the life of a wolf and a predator—who could possibly overpower him. Not to mention, the aforementioned werewolf was clearly at ease and entirely informal and casual with the fox spirit, who struggled to reply amiably while retaining his mannerisms, "Beilschmidt-sama, you still rank much higher than I, His Majesty's humble servant, do in the Underworld, so it is only befitting that I address you as such. As to answer your other question, I live among the people and have adjusted to the lifestyle of a human."

Gilbert harrumphed a bit at the fox spirit's statement. "That doesn't sound awesome at all," he commented dryly.

"No, but it is a necessary survival tactic on the Surface World," Kiku reasoned. "After all, not everyone travels in a pack."

"Right, right," Gilbert acquiesced reluctantly with a nod of his head. His crimson eyes focused upon Lovino suddenly, who was sitting across from him at the dinner table, and sparkled with amusement. "You're pretty cute though. Do you like dogs?" Gilbert barked with laughter. "I'll take you in my pack! Surely, you wouldn't want to be stuck with a stuffy old man like Art!" Arthur narrowed his eyes at the insult but said nothing.

"I hate dogs," Lovino grumbled. It was a lie, of course. The Italian did not quite fancy taking an animal—domesticated or not—under his care, but he didn't hate them. He had enough on his plate with Feliciano and Antonio, after all, so he never thought much of adopting a pet. However, in this case, he would say anything to get this bastard off his back. Hopefully, his comment about canines also applied to werewolves.

"Well, that's not awesome," Gilbert remarked, setting his fork next to his plate, "but that's fine. Fair enough, I guess. I've never liked dogs all that much either; I didn't like how they stick next to humans so closely and so subserviently—_especially_ lap dogs. Man's best friend! Ha!"

"You say that, but you're the Head Alpha," Arthur remarked. "Isn't everyone, be it alpha, beta, or omega, in your pack subservient to you—just like loyal dogs to their master?"

"That's different but just as annoying," Gilbert responded dismissively as he leaned back in his chair. He fiddled with the hood of Matthew's jacket, clearly done with eating. "I like a challenge every now and then, and usually Elizaveta delivers... But she still knows her place. I've been trying to raise Ludwig to take my title, but he hasn't been biting the bait."

"It's because he respects you. Aren't you his older brother?"

"I guess..."

Lovino really couldn't follow the conversation. It was a wholly different world to which he didn't belong. Instead, he reached for another bread stick and munched on it idly. Antonio gave him a weak smile at his side. In the meanwhile, the children were wholeheartedly devouring their meal, and Alfred couldn't get enough of the _fettuccine Alfredo_ either. That was good enough for him. Arthur hadn't seemed to participate in the meal, deciding to entertain and inform his guest at the same time, a task that apparently called for the entirety of his attention.

"So, kid, according to Art, you're Romulus Vargas' heir, aren't you?" Gilbert addressed Lovino casually. "What did you say your name was?"

Lovino's eyebrow twitched, but still he obliged since he didn't know what this... _carnivore_ could do to him. "Lovino Vargas," he answered gruffly.

"Funny, Arthur introduced you as Romano."

"That's his true name," Arthur explained, but it didn't really explain anything to Lovino. "Just as Ludwig's true name is Heinrich, but you didn't listen when I tried persuading you otherwise."

"He already got attached to the name Ludwig! I couldn't do anything about it by then!" Gilbert soon shrugged off Arthur's comment. It didn't really bother him what the kid's name was, but he would rather not talk about his brother's name right now. He was already something of an amnesiac. Several decades back, Gilbert had found Ludwig, a fallen soldier from the Great War, in front of Hell's Gates and dragged him back to the Underworld as a fellow werewolf, and that was all the information he ever bothered to divulge to anyone else. Instead of touching face with this, the albino returned the attention back to the Italian brunet, remarking, "Lovino, was it? You're having trouble with the Mafia?"

"What about it?" Lovino grumbled.

"Just wanted to offer some of my awesome assistance," Gilbert clarified with a devious grin stretching his lips. "Any adventure that Arthur tackles, I'm bound to join. This guy is actually something of a sour old warmonger despite that stiff and stuffy exterior, you see! You should have seen this guy back in the seventies or even in the 1720s!"

"Who's a warmonger?" Arthur grunted, kicking Gilbert underneath the table. The werewolf consequently yelped like a kicked puppy. "And leave the past in the past! The seventies was more than three decades ago—and the eighteenth century even more so!" After giving the albino a brief chastisement, the Briton turned to Lovino and raised an eyebrow. "Are you okay with that?" he inquired of the Italian boy. "We do need seven allies, after all."

"Is seven really necessary?" Lovino mumbled under his breath.

"If we're being realistic, then yes," Arthur responded blatantly without softening the blow to Lovino's self-esteem. "The task is difficult to accomplish with only two humans, almost entirely impossible," at this, Antonio dropped his head in shame, "and I am only a singular entity in a realm where I do not belong. If I unleash my capabilities, then it could result in dire consequences that could unravel the balance in the universe. Thus, I need to rely on four other individuals who have my trust invested within them. You have already met Kiku, my familiar, and this is Gilbert, an old friend of mine and fellow adventurer. That is already two more people in addition to ourselves—and Carriedo." Antonio pouted childishly at the last-minute mention of his name.

"I'll get it!" Alfred sang as he bolted from his seat. A split second later, the doorbell rang, and Arthur's lips curled into a smirk.

"And then there were six," he mused.

Gilbert was bouncing in his seat from the excitement by now. "Who is it? Who is it?!" he demanded of the blond.

"That means," Lovino deduced, ignoring Gilbert's childish antics and narrowing his eyes at Arthur, "you've never meant for the tomato bastard and me to participate. Your seven is a bunch of bullshit. You only need a team of five."

"That is only partially correct," Arthur responded calmly. He tapped his cranium with his left forefinger while curling fettuccine onto his fork. "I need your cognitive map as well since I am not entirely omniscient. I am not familiar with the flooring of the Vargas estate, and it would save time and trouble if we had either you or Carriedo there to guide us." Lovino watched him with weary suspicion in his eyes as the Briton chewed and swallowed the pasta. There was a moment where his emerald eyes had brightened considerably, causing Lovino's heart to skip a beat at the unspoken compliments, but the Italian boy doubted anyone else—even Arthur himself—had noticed his momentary change. Again, his face emptied of emotions, and the blond paused before speaking, "I am not saying that you are a nuisance."

"But I am, _sì_?" Lovino retorted.

"Those are your own words and assumption, and I cannot take responsibility for your own interpretations of what I have said," Arthur responded with an impatient and aggravated sigh. "You have your own uses, talents, and trades, Romano, but they are not in the field of power or conquest."

"Stop speaking so vaguely, you bastard," Lovino hissed, narrowing his eyes at the blond sitting to his left. He ignored Antonio warning him to be respectful and polite. Right now, the Italian couldn't give less of a damn whom Arthur was and could be—host or aide or whatever—and was much more focused on the fact that the bastard was insinuating something—a weakness of Lovino, probably. "If you have something to say, just spit it out!"

"Well then, if you so insist, Romano, then I mean to say that you aren't fit to carry on Romulus Vargas' legacy," Arthur stated coolly and nonchalantly. He trained his cold jade eyes on Lovino's still and stiff form. "Your grandfather told me that himself seven years ago, and now I can see what he had meant. You cannot lead _La Famiglia Divina_. It is really no wonder or surprise that they had revolted against your leadership."

Lovino shot from his seat, slamming his palms against the surface of the table despite the stinging pain biting at his nerves, and glared at Arthur with glossy and glassy eyes of amber and emerald. His gaze was heated with indignation and frustration, and although his chest heaved with wrath and fury, he couldn't seem to voice his own thoughts. Cheeks reddening, flustered, Lovino backed away from the table and scrambled from the dining room. He scurried up the stairs, and Antonio nearly followed after him until Arthur stopped him by calling his name sternly and severely.

"You know I'm right," Arthur told the Spaniard, "and he knows I'm right."

"Even so, you shouldn't have spoken so—!" Antonio protested.

The brunet was silenced when Arthur raised his hand. "There is no other way to tell him; the truth is but the truth. Romano is too kind—_far_ too kind—and much too sensitive to be the Boss, both him and his brother," the Briton muttered, "but he needs to learn that first hand himself. He needs to learn and to know that the family will die with Romulus Vargas. It's no longer the Divine Family; with this, there is no more family. His grandfather wants to give both him and his brother a chance to live their lives the way they want to live. He wants to free them—not expose them to the secrets and the dangers of the Underground. He won't realise that if you coddle him."

"Why didn't you tell him that instead?" Gilbert inquired as he waved goodbye at the children leaving the dining room together once Alfred reappeared with their newest guest.

"He doesn't need to hear it from me," Arthur responded with a wry smile. "I'm just a stranger."

"A stranger who gave him his last name," Gilbert remarked with a smirk. "Romano Kirkland, huh? Did you marry him or adopt him? I would love an Italian wife who'd cook for me all day long and who'd love me all night long... although now you have three chances among twenty-four to have a cute little Italian wife. That's a one in eight probability!"

Arthur rolled his eyes before standing up and giving his other friend a smile. "It's been a while, Mathias," the blond greeted the taller, burlier man. His outstretched hand was slapped away in favour of a bear hug. If it wasn't for the fact that Arthur was actually much more powerful than Mathias due to being older than the taller blond by almost six centuries, he would have suffocated in his friend's arms. He could, however, still feel Mathias' strength and struggled to slip away from his muscular arms.

"It's been _centuries_, my old friend! Are we talking about wives now?" Mathias boomed before doing the same to Gilbert, who had tried escaping the room lest risk being the next victim to his friend's deathly hug. "I thought that topic has been forbidden ever since Francis—ah, never mind." The taller blond ceased speaking as soon as he noticed the glare in Arthur's eyes. He resumed his greetings and thus patted Antonio on the back, nearly sending the Spaniard flying across the dining room table, and nodded his head respectfully to Kiku, which the latter greatly appreciated. After recalling that marriage was a sensitive topic to Arthur—along with numerous others that he occasionally forgot—Mathias smartly diverted the subject to something else. The taller, burlier daemon beamed, chirping, "Well, one morning I woke up and thought, 'Arthur's probably going to do something big soon, I can feel it in my dead bones!' so I hiked to the nearest Gate and walked all the way here! Lukas sends you his regards!"

Arthur inclined his head politely and responded, "Likewise, I look forward to the day we could get together with Vladimir."

"That would be a sight to see—that Magic Trio, reunited! So, anyway, how did Gilbert get here?" Mathias inquired of the werewolf with a wide grin on his lips.

"Eh, travelled from Berlin with the pack on our usual patrol route," Gilbert replied nonchalantly, trying to play cool as though he hadn't been crushed from Mathias' earlier display of strength. "I ran into Arthur at Bromley when he was retouching one of his magic circles."

Mathias nodded slowly, absorbing the information, before asking of Arthur, "What are you planning to do, my old friend?"

The smaller blond grinned wryly though his green eyes flashed wickedly as he answered, "I'm going to wipe out Romulus Vargas' family. They've no place in the Underground any more now that their Boss has passed away and his heir is not suited to take over the _famiglia_."

The former Viking whistled lowly and commented, "Are you sure about that? It sounds like a lot of work—might be difficult. Can't you get someone else to do it for you?"

"Positive," was the curt response. Arthur collapsed into his seat and glanced briefly at Antonio, who had remained silent all this time. Raking a hand through his already unruly hair, he mentioned, "I have to do this myself, however, to make sure that the objective is executed properly. It's what Romulus Vargas wanted, after all, and it _is_ a part of our contract. With the decimation and eradication of _La Famiglia Divina_, his grandsons would no longer be bound by the chains of the Underground. That also includes you, Carriedo," he narrowed his eyes at an unsettled Spaniard, "so don't you dare protest what I'm doing for you and your cousins."

"Then we will have to pay the Underground a visit ourselves," Mathias deduced.

"But first we need information," Kiku protested. "We cannot simply charge blindly and hope that members of the family are there for us to carry to the Gate. They may be dispersed throughout the entire globe, knowing Romulus Vargas' conquest during his golden era, and we are not even sure where the locations of their branches are exactly."

A thought occurred to Arthur, and he shuddered in repulse at the revelation. "Damn," he hissed, "I was hoping to avoid this..."

Gilbert and Mathias immediately caught onto his train of thoughts though Antonio was still oblivious to the events occurring around him. Kiku sighed and remarked, "Your Majesty, we have no other choice but to go to him first. There is nothing that he does not know in regards to the Underground."

"No, no, no!" Arthur snapped childishly, crossing his arms stubbornly as a pout overwhelmed his lips. Antonio watched in amusement and nostalgia as the Briton barked, "I refuse! I absolutely, positively, indisputably, irrefutably, undoubtedly, undeniably, unmistakeably, and unquestionably refuse to visit that bloody pervert of a frog!"

"I believe it is time to forgive him for—" Kiku winced as Arthur directed a sharp, piercing glare to him. "It is in his nature, Your Majesty. He was doing his job, and he was worried about you."

"Art, you're the head of this operation," Gilbert coaxed, rubbing his friend's shoulders in a light massage. "You have to forgive and forget about what Franny did! It's been a couple hundred years already! Like Kiku said, he was only thinking about you, wasn't he? He cares for you! It's not like he could have controlled the outcome of what had happened anyway!"

"He cares for my bleeding arse, that's what!" Arthur retorted vehemently.

Mathias guffawed loudly. "Think of it this way, my old friend; if Francis hadn't done what he had did, then your Uncle Patrick or Cousin James would have done so! Then your choices would have been narrowed considerably to the people you most definitely would dislike since they would be pawns all aiming for your position!"

"James is not as malicious as Uncle Patrick _or_ Alistair," Arthur grumbled, "but he would have searched for a bride just because it is in his title as one of the Seven Princes and because he would not want Uncle Patrick and Aunt Bridget to outdo him."

"So will you come visit Franny with us?" Gilbert cooed, ceasing his ministrations on Arthur's stiff shoulders. His muscles hadn't loosen or relaxed one bit, but the Briton did sigh. Therefore, Gilbert assumed that he was in a much better and more agreeable mood. Mathias was a smart man, the wolf praised his friend, by using the comparison between their incubus friend and Arthur's family. Nobody could be as cruel as Arthur's family; they did have the second highest position in Council behind the King of the Underworld himself. Because Arthur hated hearing about his family, a mere mention of them was enough for Arthur to demand silence and to do anything he could in his power to evade the topic.

"To Paris we go," Arthur grunted, flicking his wrist dismissively. He trudged to his front door, and Gilbert and Mathias immediately followed after him. They watched as Arthur pulled out a worn piece of chalk from the drawer at the entrance and expertly crafted a pentagram on the door's surface, inscribing it within a perfect circle that Gilbert couldn't help but admire. Without so much picking up the end of his chalk, Arthur scribbled "Paris" carelessly on the surface in longhand before the circle glowed a soft lavender and misty blue with magic. A bright light flashed through the windows before fading away, and the scenery outside was replaced by a scenic Parisian view.

Even though Arthur was not a fan of the city, he had to disguise his manor as a Parisian high-rise penthouse. He wanted the best of the best, after all, if he was going to visit the frog and bring about a migraine unto himself.

* * *

Lovino knew this was a pretty stupid idea, but the bastards were so damn rowdy downstairs that he couldn't help himself and, thereby, chose to follow them. First he made sure that Kiku was tucking away the children and that Antonio was dead asleep after dinner, and then he stepped outside. However, shock nearly overwhelmed him to a muddled stupor when he saw that he was in a corridor instead of the London neighbourhood in which Arthur and his spirits resided. If it weren't for the fact that his ears were quick to pick up on the noise down the hallway, he would have forgotten his objective, and Lovino swiftly recovered from his bewilderment to pursue his host and company. Peering about the corner, he found that the trio had descended down the stairs and quietly climbed after them.

Following them into a lobby, Lovino discovered that they were currently in France. Shit, he didn't study French—never had and probably never will—so there was a good chance that, if he lost the bastard three, he probably wouldn't know his way back. Nevertheless, pride seized hold of his momentary lapse of panic, and Lovino swallowed his fears to chase after Arthur and his friends. He would prove to that snarky bastard who could take over the Vargas legacy, and he wouldn't let his new settings get the better of him! He had to save his brother, and Lovino absolutely refused to hand Feliciano over to those freaks anyway! One of them reeked of wet dog and fleas, the second was a giant with enormous strength, the third was an emotionless robot who had no qualms with almost knifing someone the moment they first meet, and the fourth was simply a bastard—a snappy, snarky, snarly, sarcastic bastard!

"The fifth bastard can't be any better," he grumbled in Italian before palming his forehead and reminding himself to remain quiet. He eyed them wearily as they turned a corner and followed suite. He slipped past the closing door before freezing entirely at the scene laid in front of him.

The place was doused in incense—or perhaps some drug—and a cloudy white fog carrying the faintest sickeningly sweet odour crept in the crevices formed between the throngs of bodies. The lights were dimmed here, but there were no strobe lights of any sort. There was no pounding club music with a heavy bassline; instead, classical strings resounded within the claustrophobic space. Seated within the booths were couples necking or shagging while the floor was flooded with bodies pressed against one another. The bar hardly had anyone visit, but the Italian did catch sight of a patron eating a piece of steak that looked too blue to be cooked rare. Because of this distraction, Lovino nearly lost the three bastards until he felt someone pull on the back of his shirt collar, nearly suffocating him. His body tensed immediately before he forced himself to turn. He relaxed—only a little—when he saw that it was the wolf and the strong bastard who had caught him. He wondered momentarily where Arthur was but dismissed that thought. What did he care if the sarcastic bastard got into trouble?

"Well, well, well, you actually made it all the way here," Gilbert mused with a smirk that dropped as soon as it danced its way onto his pale lips. They thinned into a grim line as he stated firmly, "Humans aren't safe here." He wrapped an arm around Lovino's shoulders and pointed out a couple in a booth. "That guy there is a vampire," the albino informed Lovino coolly, "and the girl he has in his arms is almost dead. He almost drank her dry. She might have been a junkie roped into this place, but she might not have been. She could have been as curious as you were. Now, if you weren't Arthur's possession—" at this, the Italian nearly protested until he saw the grave expression in Gilbert's crimson orbs "—I wouldn't have bothered saving your ass. This type of shit is normal, understand? Nobody here would think twice—would even _blink _twice—about killing you."

The tall blond standing at Lovino's other side gave a solemn nod and remarked, "You're lucky that Arthur told us to look out for you. There have been a few vampires and succubi that have been eyeing you. Either way, you would have ended up dead—and not dead like me and Gilbert."

"W-What are you talking about?" Lovino spluttered as he was pulled along by Gilbert to the deeper end of the—club? Bar? He didn't know—_establishment_. Aren't the bastards alive and in front of him right now? If they were dead, then they would be pushing up daisies six feet under the ground, right?

"Gilbert is a lycanthrope, and I'm a revenant," the giant explained, but his explanation actually helped very little in Lovino's opinion. It raised more questions than answers, and upon seeing Lovino's dumbfounded expression, the giant gaped openly at the small brunet. "Wow, you really don't know anything, do you?"

"I apologise," Lovino hissed sardonically, rolling his amber eyes at the taller man. "I didn't expect to be pulled into a damn fairy tale."

"Ha!" Gilbert sneered—though his tone did not actually mock Lovino—sardonically. "I would love for this to be a fairy tale! The past few centuries were a nightmare! You think having all the time in the world—_immortality_, for God's sake!—would be so damn awesome, but it sucks. Really." He then snorted derisively and added, "We're not even supposed to tell you—a human—this without you forming a contract with a demon or signing your name into the Devil's Black Book, but whatever. Art broke the rules first, so it's all on him... Well, not like anyone can tell him what to do except for his _Vater _or the Emperor of the Heavens. Now there's two people you _never_ want to meet."

"Anyway," Mathias pulled the conversation back onto its tracks and away from the taboo topic of Arthur's family, "a lycanthrope—or werewolf, really—is pretty much a warrior who's died and gone to Hell. Their souls end up being morphed into hellhounds instead of receiving eternal punishment there though, and they're immediately returned to the Underworld to serve His Infernal Majesty. There's a use for them, it seems."

"In other words," Gilbert concluded dryly, "I'm stuck being a damned guard dog watching over the entrances to the Underworld and serving the King—not that I mind. It's better than being a vampire. Anyway, civilians call us 'Gatekeepers.' You can think of it like how Cerberus guards the entrance to that other Underworld in Greek mythology. My pack is actually called Kerberos though, so there is some truth to that little piece of mythology. Some of our other tasks include hunting down lost souls or guarding some stupid treasure that the Heavens and the Underworld can't risk being discovered, touched, or lost. It's why we split into packs; some of us go on patrols while others are stationed. We're also distantly related to revenants, what Mathias here is, and... other, less likeable, creatures such as the vampires I've mentioned earlier."

Mathias nodded sagely. "I was a Viking once upon a time," he recalled nostalgically. "You see, revenants are animated corpses." He grinned, revealing white teeth that probably took _centuries_ to polish to be _that_ white, and chirped, "I guess you can call me a zombie, but I'm by no means brainless." He could have had Lovino fooled a few times. "I don't crave human flesh or brain though; I honestly have no idea where that idea surfaced in popular culture and media."

"Getting off topic here, Mathias," Gilbert teased as they rounded a corner into a narrow hallway. "Basically, when Mathias here died in the twelfth century, his soul was obviously barred from Heaven, and he was too bad for Hell. Since nobody cared enough to escort his soul to the River Vitae, his went back to his body and via the unexplainable—AKA, magic and the supernatural—reanimated his corpse and kept it from decaying all throughout these centuries. He's still, in a sense, dead—just a moving corpse—but now he's also a resident of the Underworld."

"Been that way for almost a millennia," Mathias boasted proudly.

The three of them stopped in front of a door, and without bothering to knock, Gilbert slammed the door open with a wicked grin. "Art, we've awesomely brought your package!" he declared obnoxiously as he shoved Lovino forward. The brunet stumbled and tripped over the Parisian carpet in the middle of the room before falling into someone's arms. Raising his head, his hazel gaze met with electric emeralds sparking with a silent indignation and fury. His cheeks reddened as he attempted to scramble off the blond Briton, falling onto his ass instead. His heart throbbed violently in his chest, pressing against his rib cage painfully and agonisingly, and pounded in his ears like a bass drum.

He heard feminine giggles resound in the room, and a woman squealed in Spanish, "_Está rojo como un tomate! ¡Qué lindo!_"

Lovino whipped his head towards the source of the noise and found himself staring at a beautiful woman with curly brown hair pulled into a bun at the top of her head with a slender frame, high cheekbones, and earthly green eyes. She was leaning against Arthur, batting her long lashes at Lovino flirtatiously, although she clung to the Briton's arm like a lifeline. She wasn't the only one in that position either; on Arthur's other side was another beautiful woman with golden brown hair pulled into a French twist, blue-violet eyes, and an hourglass figure. A delicate diamond tiara adorned her silky hair. Behind the Briton was a tall and quite handsome woman with long, flowing silvery platinum hair, ghostly pale skin that was marred with a single scar on her cheek, and strange eyes that were differently coloured at the top—pink—and bottom—blue. Her lithe arms were wrapped loosely around his neck. Sitting at his feet were two girls of Oriental descent, one with her dark hair pulled into two buns and long sleeves covering her arms, the other with short hair adorned with a cherry blossom. He had two sets of young twins crowding him as well—one set of brunettes, another set of blondes—while a noblewoman with brown hair and a beauty mark sat to the side with a pleasantly plump woman with beige-blonde hair and lilac eyes smiling pleasantly at their guests. Yes, Arthur Kirkland—the most ungentlemanly and bastardly gentleman Lovino has ever come to know—was sitting on a velvet sofa surrounded by beautiful, gorgeous women both young and mature.

Gilbert pulled Lovino to his feet and whispered, "They're succubi; you better not let them tempt you or else it's bye-bye-bye to your life."

"They're also Arthur's concubines," Mathias added quietly, "so they would only toy with you. Don't even think about getting close to them. A good number of them want his power and status, and they're all trying to become his wife. A select few truly do love him though, but Arthur's practically asexual." He cracked a smile at his last comment, but only Gilbert seemed to share his amusement. Arthur was gradually becoming peeved by the blatant whispering about him occurring right in front of him.

"_Che cazzo_?!" Lovino snapped, staring at Arthur with wide eyes.

"_Eh bien,_ it is—_euhh_, how you say—_approprié_ for a king to have many gorgeous and beautiful lovers, _n'est-ce pas_? Although... I was unaware that he has found such a beautiful... _amant,_" piped up a heavily accented voice beside Lovino. The Italian whipped his head about to find a snotty looking Frenchman with flaxen hair and a bit of stubble attempting to pass for a beard who stared back at him with sapphire blue eyes. Before Lovino could protest to being called Arthur's lover (assuming that the word he had spoken meant the same thing as "_amante_"in Italian), the Frenchman cracked a wide, perverse grin and introduced himself, "_Bonsoir_, I believe we have not met before, _mon cher_. _Je m'appelle Francis Bonnefoy, et vous__?_"

"He's the boy whom I had previously mentioned to you," Arthur replied nonchalantly, casting a cool gaze over to Lovino, "Romano—Romulus Vargas' grandson. He's not anyone's '_amant_,' Frog."

"Ah! _Mais oui_! I can see _la ressemblance_! It is a good thing that you are not in_ l'amour, non, mes beautés_?" Francis mused with a faint smile—or smirk—on his lips. Several girls giggled at his question before continuing to fawn over Arthur, much to Lovino's utter disgust. If the Frenchman had noticed Lovino's reaction, he thought nothing of it. He stretched out a hand towards the Italian boy and introduced himself yet again, "I am Francis Bonnefoy, Patron of the Incubi and Succubi, and Arthur's_... friend_."

Lovino was right earlier; this bastard wasn't any better than the others.

"You say that again, and I'll sever your tongue," the Briton snapped indignantly. He ignored the soothing—supposedly—ministrations the girls offered him.

"Who was it that was able to gather you this many lovers—at the least—and prevent you from marrying your uncle and aunt's and your cousin's candidates that ultimately forestalled the Duke's schemes to persist any further?" Francis retorted. "I believe you owe me some form of gratitude, _chéri_. The girls really have missed you."

"Bloody disgusting frog."

"_Rosbif ingrat_."

A part of Lovino was relieved that Arthur hadn't seriously considered taking all of these women as his lovers, but he was still rather disturbed that the Frenchman thought of creating for his "friend" a harem as a means to avoid marriage. He bit his tongue to prevent himself from saying anything when the Frenchwoman pressed a kiss to his lips and as the Spanish woman ran her long fingers through his hair. Arthur didn't even seem to notice them, but Lovino _could_. Of all things he wanted to do, he wanted to pry them off—one by one—the Briton. The portrait simply looked _wrong_, and he didn't mean so morally—though that was part of the issue. Lovino couldn't see Arthur with any one of those women at all—much less an entire harem!—and peering into Arthur's darkened eyes, the colour now much like the shadows of a forest, he could see that the Briton didn't want any part of it either. Lovino's heart ached for—what?

No, wait, he couldn't. He couldn't _possibly_ sympathise for this sarcastic bastard! The blond belonged to a different world entirely—one with the undead and concubines and a load other other shit—so there was no way for Lovino to feel for him!

One of the succubi seemed to have noticed the conflict in Lovino's eyes—the pale one with the heterochromatic eyes—and gave him a wry smile. Testing the Italian boy's patience, she inclined Arthur's head upwards and planted a kiss atop his forehead. Lovino fumed. That—that _bastard_ was just going to let that happen?! What the hell?!

"Julchen," the Frenchwoman addressed her fellow succubus, "you never kiss His Majesty in front of us."

"I thought you did not believe in a public display of affection," the Spanish woman pointed out.

"I felt like it, so what's it to you, Marianne, Isabel?" she replied, her voice giving way to her German heritage, with a casual shrug. She leaned closer to Arthur's ear and whispered, though it was still loud enough for the others in the room to hear, "Is it not okay, Your Majesty?"

"Do as you please," Arthur grumbled, massaging his temples with his thumb and middle finger. "I'm too tired to put up with this shite."

Lovino's heart skipped a beat, and he wondered if he had heard correctly.

"Back to business, Frog," the Briton addressed the Frenchman, "you still have control of the Underground, do you not?"

"_Bien sûr_," Francis responded lightly as he reclined in the armchair to the right of Arthur's harem, "it hurts that you doubt my ability as one of the Four Lords, _mon cher roi._ _Si,_ _de quoi avez-vous besoin_?"

"You've heard my story, and yet you're asking me?" Arthur retorted. "I thought you more intelligent."

"I only want _clarification_, Arthur," Francis remarked dryly. His sapphire eyes diverted from the Briton momentarily to glance at Lovino. He sighed once and added, "_Mais je comprends._" He pulled from the inside of his jacket a scroll that he unrolled, revealing a world map. From his breast pocket, he removed a pen and uncapped it, marking most heavily within Italy before spreading about Europe and to the Americas. "That should be all of the locations you need for your... _final judgement_. Your children should be able to specify within the according areas now that I've narrowed it down for them... and Arthur?"

"What, Frog?"

Francis gave his "friend" a wry smile. "Do be careful," the Frenchman advised. "If you have made a contract with the one and only Romulus Vargas, it cannot possibly be an easy task even for yourself. I fear there are other forces at work here."

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "You've gotten word?" he asked dubiously.

Francis sighed and remarked, "_Non_, I wish I did, but I only hear rumours. They are the same as usual though: _le Duc_ and _Duchesse _Kirkland will attempt to usurp your throne, and _le Prince_ Alistair will attempt _un_ _coup d'état_. The latter is obviously a far-stretched rumour, but—oh well!" The wry smile widened ever so slightly though weary were his eyes. "_C'est la vie! _It's best if you finish your business and return home to settle rumours. Honestly, since you've already released Romulus Vargas' soul, why not just give up on this venture? No need to keep your word any more!"

"Not bloody likely, I'm a man of my word, Frog," Arthur grumbled. "Besides, if I do that, return home to 'settle rumours,' then it means to them that I'm paranoid. They can't overthrow me, Francis. You know that."

"If you are not worried, then _I_ am worried! People used to say that you could not overcome Alistair as well!" Francis reasoned. A frown settled on his lips as he fumed, "Pardon me for worrying about my friend!"

"I told you that if you call us friends—!"

"_Oui, oui, je sais_! You would rip out my tongue, _n'était-ce pas_?" The frown lightened into a smile though it was still weary and exhausted. "Perhaps I am a fool to worry about you, _mon cher_."

"Yes, you insufferable git, you are," Arthur remarked just as lightly. He pulled away from the girls and swiped the map from Francis' clutches. The Briton then added, "You ought to be worrying about Angelique," while standing tall in front of the Frenchman.

Francis smiled and asked, "_Comment va-t-elle—ma petite_?"

"Like a darling little princess," the Briton answered shortly with a kind smile, "she's absolutely spoiled rotten—though I've done nothing to make it any better. She's a sweetheart though, and the boys love her, Matthew and Alfred especially."

Francis laughed and mused, his previous worries almost forgotten, as he slowly relaxed, "I would not have it any other way. Thank you for saving her and for taking care of her all of these years."

"I'm sorry I couldn't save her mother."

"It is fine," the Frenchman assured. "I cannot wish for you to resurrect the dead. Even if you had, there is no future for a love between a mortal and a daemon. It is fine—the way things are now—with you taking care of her. I trust you with her."

"Likewise," Arthur grumbled under his breath so that only Francis could hear, "you are the only one I trust enough to handle the Underground. I can't leave it to Alistair or any of the others. I might not be _paranoid_ about them, but I am weary just as you are." His green eyes darkened to an almost pitch black as he spoke louder, "I will follow my mother's wishes even if my own family deems me unfit."

Gilbert, Mathias, Francis, and all of the succubi shared a wide smile that stretched from ear to ear—beaming with pride and happiness—upon hearing Arthur's words. The Frenchwoman—Marianne—leapt to her feet, pushing the Briton back down onto the sofa, while the Spanish woman—Isabel—tugged him back. Julchen forced him to recline on the spot, and Francis stood up to push out all of the men. "We'll leave them be," Francis mused, "as they haven't seen Arthur in such a long, _long_ time!"

"Well, at least we know why he didn't want to come here," Gilbert remarked dryly as he stumbled out of the room. "He must be embarrassed knowing how dishonest Art is!" He rolled his eyes as he watched Francis lock the door, oblivious to the scowl Lovino bore on his lips and the reason behind it. Frankly, even the Italian didn't understand why he was so discontent either—especially why he was so _pissed off_ at the sarcastic bastard.

"There's not much we can do here but go home," Mathias suggested.

"I assume that, after tonight, Arthur will return to London?" Francis inquired of his friends.

"Kiku would scold us if we don't think of a plan," Gilbert replied with a nod.

"Ah, Kiku Honda has always been _un renard intelligent_, _non_?" the Frenchman mused. "Send him my regards! If he is lucky, Arthur will make one of the girls _sa reine,_ and then the children will have a mother! It would be a load off Kiku's hands especially if he chooses Marianne, Isabel, Chun-Yan, or one of the Italians—Chiara or Alice—_n'est-ce pas_? They _are_ delightful cooks, and with how much Arthur adores children and the aspect of being a good father, they are willing to—" A lewd smile overtook his lips as he laughed obnoxiously. Lovino's cheeks flushed as soon as he caught onto what Francis was implying. "—give his guardian spirits a few new play mates!"

"_Oui, oui_!" Gilbert responded light-heartedly in a teasing, playful manner. His response, however, made Francis grimace.

"_Mon ami_, please, do not butcher my beautiful language," the Frenchman griped.

"_Mais bien sûr_! _Je suis désolé_!"

"Gilbert, _tu es un vrai imbécile._ Get out."

Therefore, Gilbert and Mathias quickly left the premises with a sulky Lovino in tow. Gilbert spared the Italian once glance and asked tersely, "What's wrong with you?"

"Bastard."

"No, seriously," Gilbert insisted, "moping around is so not awesome. What's eating you, kid?"

"Stop calling me a kid!"

"Nope, I'll call you a kid if I want to call you a kid, and you _are_ a kid anyway! How old are you? Fifteen? Sixteen?"

"Nineteen, you bastard! I'm _nineteen_!"

"...you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure!"

"Oh, damn," Gilbert mused, scratching his cheek sheepishly, "I think the human species is devolving or something! They're getting shorter, less developed, and they all look younger, too!"

Mathias laughed. "I'll say! I wouldn't be surprised if they all turn into little elves in the next millennia! Tino always has admired Santa Claus! Maybe he could put together a workshop in the near future!" the undead man boomed, attracting a few curious stares from those still lingering on the Parisian streets. Upon hearing Lovino growl impatiently and irritatedly, Mathias quickly posed Gilbert's earlier question, "So what's bothering you, Romano?"

"My name's Lovino!"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm fucking sure, you bastards! How the hell wouldn't I know my own damn name?!"

"Whoa, calm down, firecracker," Gilbert teased, tickling Lovino under the chin. The Italian promptly slapped his hand away. "Seriously, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," Lovino grunted. They would probably think it's silly anyway.

Gilbert sighed. "It's not 'nothing' if it's making you scowl like crazy," the albino remarked pointedly. "You remind me of Arthur."

"How do I remind you of that sarcastic bastard, dammit?" Lovino grumbled.

"Like that," Mathias commented. "Grumpy, unsociable, and temperamental."

"Ha, not to mention dishonest! They both say the opposite of what they mean!" Gilbert chirped as he nodded his head sagely. "Now _that_ took a while to get used to when I first met Art!"

"They're two peas in a pod!" Mathias agreed.

"Shut up!" Lovino snapped angrily, eyes burning and nostrils flaring.

"Is it about his concubines?" Mathias suggested innocently. He smiled when he saw Lovino tense at the mention of the girls. "Are you jealous?"

"Why the hell would I be jealous of _them_?!"

Mathias and Gilbert shared a moment's stare—bewildered and bemused—before bursting into laughter, once more attracting the occasional glances of passer-bys. Their raucous laughter forced them away from control as they began slapping thighs and knees and clutching stomachs. Upon calming down moments later, Mathias wiped away a stray tear and remarked, "I meant if you were jealous of _Arthur_, but, hey, that's an interesting take on it. Do explain!"

Lovino's cheeks flushed red, and he immediately pivoted on his heel, marching down the street. Gilbert and Mathias immediately chased after the Italian boy. "Oh, come on, Lovino!" Gilbert crowed. "What's the matter?"

"If Arthur doesn't like them," Lovino grumbled, "why the hell is he leading them on?" No, Lovino corrected himself, that's not quite right. Still, he couldn't phrase it any other way. He knew that Arthur wasn't stringing anybody along or leading anyone on, but he sure as hell wasn't making things any better. It hurt—somewhat—knowing that.

"It's... politics," Gilbert replied slowly and uncertainly. "I think."

"We don't really know either," Mathias elaborated. "The only ones who can tell you are Arthur and Francis, but the only one who probably will tell you is Francis. Arthur doesn't like to talk about his life much."

Really? Lovino replied mentally—doubt clear in his mind. He didn't have problems talking about his children—or, rather, "guardian spirits." Still, he sighed and kept silent. If these bastards didn't want to talk about it, then, fine, they wouldn't talk about it. Instead, he asked, "By the way, what's the difference between the Underground and the Underworld and Hell and the Otherside and shit? You bastards were going back and forth about that more times than I could count."

"That's an easy question," Mathias chirped. "The Otherside is a general term used for the supernatural realm. As far as we're concerned, there are three dimensions—the Heavens, the Surface World or human realm, really, and the Underworld. The term 'Otherside' applies to an environment with whatever is normally unknown to humans—like ghosts, guardian spirits, and daemons—including the extensions of the physical world. Contrary to popular belief, unicorns and fairies and all that magical stuff don't exist in another dimension; they're here on earth. You just can or can't see them, but they're there. If you _can _see these kinds of things, it's called having the Sight—with a capital S because it's really that important. Humans call it having psychic powers or ESP or whatever though. In other words, you can say that, on the Surface World, there's the physical _and_ the invisible. Likewise, the Underground is an extension of the Surface World that's virtually controlled by daemons, and it's used to weed out the sinners and the damned from the other souls. Anyway, it's made of traffickers, bootleggers, gangs, crime syndicates, and all of that illegal stuff. Usually, a group of daemons control a certain sector. For example, vampires watch over drug traffickers, and the incubi and succubi regulate both legal and illegal prostitution transactions. This is to make sure that flow of the River Vitae remains stable—not too many people going to Hell and all of that. Hell, then, as you can guess, is the place that smells like sulphur and has a fire going on twenty-four-seven."

"Ah, yes, the torture chamber," Gilbert mused. "It's a sub-area within the Underworld."

"Then you can deduce and correctly conclude that the Underworld is where daemons like Gilbert and me reside—if we want to stay there," Mathias continued without much regard to Gilbert's comment. "There's a couple of daemons that wander to the Surface World to live. I mean, we do get easier access to food."

"Food?" Lovino repeated with unconcealed puzzlement in his eyes. He then recalled setting his eyes on a vampire feasting due to Gilbert's intervention. If the albino hadn't stepped into the scene, then it probably would have been his turn after that woman. He wondered if... if she was dead by now. He remembered earlier today Arthur was explaining to him how vampires were the only daemons that needed to feed directly from humans; so this was what he had meant.

"Life energy—anything that constitutes life," Gilbert answered shortly, breaking Lovino out of his thoughts and puzzling the boy for a moment. "As you've seen already, vampires need to sustain on blood, and werewolves need to sustain on flesh. We—vampires and werewolves both—think in terms of hunter, or predator, and prey. On the other hand, revenants feed off fear, so Mathias and his Viking pals go around terrorising innocent people like the Bogeyman under children's beds. Incubi and succubi live off sex, and for a human, that could result in death if there's been one too many times. Familiars—which are like summoning spirits, by the way—can live on a natural diet; they're usually animals like a black cat or an owl or a dog or whatever. The rarer of familiars include dragons, fairies, and fox spirits. That being said, Kiku is a high-class familiar that adapted to human life, which is pretty smart on his part, yeah. Demons are different from the typical daemons though; they feed on souls."

"Demons?" Lovino repeated, recalling the usage of the terms. Arthur had used them both but implied that the two possessed different meanings though he explained very little. "There's a difference between daemons and demons?"

"Yeah, there is," Mathias answered before clarifying. "Daemon is a collective term used to refer to vampires, werewolves, revenants, incubi and succubi, familiars, demons, _and _angels. Think of a daemon as supernatural spirits—either malevolent or benevolent depending, really, on the individual. Demons, more specifically, are fallen angels from Heaven; they're quite rare nowadays since angels hardly ever come down to earth and are too... _virtuous_ to be tempted by sins. For example, while demons consume souls, angels thrive off a person's belief—usually a religious belief. The huge gap of differences between them is why most demons recently are simply descendants of fallen angels. Typically, people know them for their outrageous contracts. Have you heard of musicians exchanging their souls for talent? Yeah, that's an example of a contract. Anyway, fallen angels are a common ancestor of all daemons of the Underworld, but you can hardly tell now. Everything's diverged and evolved that vampires and werewolves will rip out someone's throat if he or she so much mentions a common ancestor or relation between the two of them." Mathias glanced at Gilbert, who scowled slightly at the thought. "You don't hate Vladimir, right?"

"No, that's Elizaveta's job, but I do hate Ivan Braginsky," Gilbert grumbled. "I wish Vladimir could get a little stronger and overthrow that Russian from his throne! That way, I don't have to deal with seeing his face at Council meetings! It would be so awesome if that happened!"

"Oh, right, you two had some territorial disputes once or twice! The same goes for Elizaveta and Vladimir?"

"Eh, something like that, I guess. Either way, I don't like him."

Ignoring the unfamiliar names, the Italian brought himself to ask the singular question gnawing at his curiosity. "What is..." Lovino gulped upon learning that asking was harder than he had anticipated. "What is Arthur?"

"Why are you always asking about Arthur?" Gilbert retorted with a teasing smirk. "Do you have a crush on him or something?"

Lovino's cheeks reddened. "S-Sh-Shut up!"

"Ah, ah, ah! You're not denying it!" Mathias cooed, lifting the Italian boy in his arms and twirling him around. "How cute!"

"I don't have a crush on him!"

"Eh, good," Gilbert remarked tersely. That hurt, for some reason, though Lovino couldn't understand why. It was pretty harsh. "It's best not to take any emotion for Arthur seriously. He... He can't fall in love; well, it's more like he can't risk falling in love. He's never had a lover in the past fifteen or sixteen hundred years."

Lovino gulped. "Never?" Wasn't he lonely then?

Gilbert chuckled. "Well, I guess not; it's probably criminal when everyone else is like a thousand years younger!" The werewolf attempted a joke, but nobody laughed. He sighed. "At any rate, Arthur is kind of touchy about what he is—along with the topic of his family and the topic of marriage. Don't ever bring any of that up unless he says it's okay, which is unlikely. Toni—your cousin—made that mistake with the first of the three taboos, and his ass was dumped on the spot."

"Then how do you guys know?" Lovino questioned sceptically.

"How can we not?" Mathias retorted. "He's our king—the King of the Underworld."

Gilbert nodded and added, "You might know him by his other name. In Hell, he's called the Devil."

* * *

**A/N:** This might be the longest chapter because of all the terminology and explaining all of the mythology.

King Arthur's harem is made of twenty-four female characters from Nyotalia, all of whom are succubi in this story, but I really don't want to list them here because twenty-four names is just too much... It actually pales in comparison to King Solomon's harem, which was made of 300 concubines. The girls present in this chapter include Spain, France, Prussia, America and Canada, Italy Veneziano and Italy Romano, Japan, China, Austria, and Russia. The harem will mainly focus on Isabel, Marianne, Julchen, and Alice and Chiara though. It also has a purpose aside from serving for my (and possibly your) entertainment!

Daemons in classical mythology are defined as "benevolent or benign nature spirits," so they're not exactly evil. Like ghosts. That's why I've included angels as daemons as well. Also, sorry about all of the weird terms used for the "Otherside." The way I've imagined and planned this story, the Underground, the Underworld, and Hell are separate existences. The Underground is a part of the physical world, but there are hidden strings being pulled by unknown forces (AKA: daemons). The Underworld is where the "evil" or "malevolent" daemons (demons, vampires, werewolves, revenants, succubi/incubi) live, and Hell can be viewed like Tartarus in Greek mythology. Cerberus, the three-headed guard dog, is actually Gilbert's personal pack (refer to previous chapter; Ludwig, Elizaveta, and Roderich) in this story because I thought it was cute and it's fictional, so I can do whatever I want, haha. More of this mythology will be explained later as Lovino ventures more into the Otherside!

Oh, and I'm thinking about changing the rating to M. Thinking about it now, this story might be darker than when I first considered rating it between T and M. Plus, I dropped f**k more times than I expected, and that's enough to label a movie, game, or CD as R or M or explicit.


	5. Chapter 4

**IV: The King and I**

Lovino's head was reeling from all of the information he had learnt overnight that he hadn't managed to sleep for more than an hour. It didn't help that Mathias and Gilbert were staying in the guest room next door as well and were making a racket with their silly games. Evidently, daemons did not require sleep since they were neither dead nor alive; it was, however, considered a luxury though and relaxing to their muscles. Still, it was in all actuality the shock that prevented him from any rest.

He was staying in the Devil's manor.

His grandfather had made an arrangement with or asked a request of the Devil.

His cousin—the dumb tomato bastard—had dated the Devil for almost _three months _seven years ago.

Now the Devil was taking care of him.

Shit, Lovino was going to Hell, wasn't he? He had always joked to his friends in secondary school that he was a poor sinner, especially since his _Nonno_ was in charge of a Mafia family, but now the prospect wasn't so light-hearted and definitely wasn't so funny—not any more. Clicking his tongue, Lovino rolled around in bed once more until he felt something jump onto him.

And he _screamed_.

"Owww!" Alfred whined, covering his ears, as he blinked wearily at Lovino with a childish pout on his lips and glossy cerulean eyes. "Why'd you scream, Roma? Did you have a bad dream? Did it hurt when I jump on you? Artie never screams when I jump on him..." His bottom lip quivered, and Lovino could feel a pang of guilt pulling on his heartstrings.

Sighing, the Italian ran a hand through Alfred's hair, patting his head lightly, and responded, "I'm fine. You just startled me." A soft smile graced his lips as Alfred beamed and hopped off the bed, pulling Lovino by his fingers.

"C'mon, Roma! Let's eat breakfast! Miss Marianne and Miss Chiara and Miss Alice are here to make breakfast!" Alfred exclaimed. Upon hearing the three names, vaguely familiar from last night's events, Lovino reluctantly stood on his two feet and threw on a pair of grey joggers over his boxers. Alfred tugged impatiently on his tank top before racing out the door and pulling Lovino by the hand. The Italian stumbled after the child and nearly bumped into someone on the way to breakfast. He turned his head to apologise until he saw that it was only Gilbert bouncing Matthew on his shoulders. In that case, he only apologised to Matthew.

Alfred pushed him into a chair, the same one in which he sat last night, and saw that Arthur was already seated at the table, sipping a steaming cup of tea. Lovino's heart skipped a beat upon seeing the bedraggled locks of mousy blond hair and the occasional bite marks that couldn't be hidden by the white collar of his button shirt. Cheeks flaming red, Lovino turned away from Arthur and noted that the table seemed to be longer than last night the moment Antonio sat next to him. There were a number of chairs behind the Spaniard, four of them to match the ones on the other side of the table, it seemed.

"Since when...? How did...?" Lovino muttered under his breath, astounded.

"Are you really going to ask that after all that you've seen and learnt?" Arthur mused to his left. Lovino flushed with embarrassment. The Briton continued, "It's as easy as one, two, three," before snapping his fingers. The table then shortened, and the chairs disappeared. However, with another snap, they reappeared. "We've fourteen people today, after all." Gilbert occupied the chair next to Antonio while Matthew scrambled to the second seat to Arthur's left, stating adamantly that he was saving that certain seat for "_Maman_." At this, Marianne beamed while Arthur flushed with embarrassment and Lovino... Lovino's chest was aching for some unknown reason.

All of this new shit was probably getting to him, the Italian concluded. It was deteriorating his health.

Gilbert stood up and sauntered to the fridge to fetch the orange juice. While he was there, he grabbed six glasses and handed them to the children, who were now dispersed rather haphazardly. Matthew, Alfred, and Angelique all sat side by side while there were two seats leftover for the Italian twins. Kiku was seated at the end of the table, opposite Arthur. Finishing the seating chart were Jia Long and Neeraja, both of whom sat next to Mathias and Gilbert.

As he poured the orange juice about the table, Gilbert strolled past Lovino and whispered into his ear, "Mattie, Al, and Ange all have a soft spot for Marianne. Maybe it's because they all have French blood in their veins. Anyway, she's practically their mother, and Chiara and Alice are her cousins—distantly related, of course. You can't really see the family resemblance, can you?" Lovino shook his head in response but said nothing on the topic. He really didn't want to talk about marriage and mothers and—and _concubines_—right now, first thing in the morning. He froze when he saw Arthur sending the two of them a sceptic glance as Gilbert returned to his seat after putting away the carton of juice.

Lovino swiftly recovered from his shock when someone placed a plate of crepes in front of him. Raising his head, his eyes met with glowing amber orbs. The Italian twin with dark, long hair pulled back by a headband raised an eyebrow at him before sauntering off to fetch another plate to serve, her long, thin stiletto heels clicking against the tiled floor of the dining room. The more energetic of the pair handed out a set of silverware to everyone with a bright smile stretching her lips, and Lovino couldn't help but be reminded of Feliciano.

Dammit, what was he doing right now? Dining with daemons? How ridiculous!

"I thought daemons didn't have to eat human food," Lovino muttered under his breath.

Arthur must have heard him because he answered, "It's a luxury; we have to relax somehow. Now belt up, give your thanks, and eat your breakfast, you miserable git." When the nineteen year old turned to glare at Arthur and protest, he was stunned into silence by the tender smile gracing his lips as the older man mused, "Even if _we_ don't need to eat, _you_ certainly need the strength and nutrition." The smile abruptly disappeared; nobody else seemed to have noticed it except for Lovino. His heart pounded uncontrollably from astonishment, and he willed it to cease—albeit unsuccessful he was.

The young man quickly turned his attention to the food served in front of him when the Frenchwoman occupied the seat, greeting all three of her "children" and Arthur with a kiss. The surlier of the Italian twins occupied the chair between her sister and Angelique, greeting the children with a friendly smile—much to Lovino's surprise—while the brighter of the Italian twins greeted Kiku, Mathias, and Gilbert merrily. She then took the opportunity to introduce herself, Alice, and her sister, Chiara, and her cousin, Marianne, to Lovino and Antonio. Lovino wasn't too surprised when Antonio took everything in stride, casually smiling and introducing himself and his cousin to the girls as well.

"Oh, _sì_!" Alice exclaimed with glittering copper eyes. "I remember you from seven years ago—was it seven years ago, _Sorella_? You made a contract with _mio re_!"

Chiara scoffed, cutting into Angelique's crepes for her as Marianne and Arthur did the same for Matthew and Alfred respectively. Jia Long and Neeraja insisted that they were fine but Alice and Kiku took charge anyway. "Some contract," the older Italian remarked. "It was nullified, wasn't it? It spread like wildfire among the daemons; the King of the Underworld cancelled one contract in favour of another and got a rare soul in return. Not only that, but he lengthened the lifespan of a human, which is virtually unheard!"

"It's not anything newsworthy," Arthur muttered under his breath.

"Everyone else thinks otherwise, _mon amour_," Marianne mused. "It's rare to reap a soul of white—especially when there's blue present. Why, everyone knows that blue flames are the noblest of souls!" She smiled and traced a finger up Arthur's arm, poking the left side of his chest, and chirped, "You should know."

Arthur frowned and responded, "I don't."

She laughed in amusement at his terse response and shrugged lightly before handing back Matthew's plate. Arthur passed over Alfred's plate, and she handed that to the child with great flourish and elegance in her movements. An hour of breakfast passed with conversation exchanged mostly between the daemons, though Arthur remained silent throughout a vast majority of the meal unless addressed, before everyone was finished with their meals. After cleaning up, the succubi gathered their belongings before they left. The Italian twins each kissed Arthur's cheeks at the same time while Marianne pecked his lips affectionately. They exited the English manor-turned-French apartment before Arthur collapsed into an armchair, restless.

"Do you know how many people would die to be in your shoes right now?" Gilbert remarked dryly as he and Mathias strolled into the living room. Lovino followed behind him while Antonio offered to help Kiku clean up. "You had eleven sweethearts of your twenty-four lovers visit you last night, and three of them stayed to cook you breakfast. That's practically every man's dream. Screw monogamy, am I right?"

"It's suffocating," Arthur griped, "and I'd rather have _one_ wife than twenty-four of them!"

"Well, at least you _aren't_ married to them," Mathias pointed out brightly.

"Oh, shut it, Mathias," Arthur grunted. He sighed. "Everyone expects me to pick someone."

"Well, those three are your favourites when it comes to lovers, aren't they?" Gilbert reasoned. "Pick one of them—or, hell, pick all three of them! There's no rule against that, is there? Not in the Underworld, at least... Personally, though, I like Madeline. Her pigtails and glasses are so adorable—and her little red baret and hair ribbons are just so—ah, I can't explain it!" He sighed dramatically and fell to his knees, grasping Arthur's hands. "Please, give her to me."

"What am I? Her father?" Arthur kicked Gilbert away. "I can't just 'give her' to you! I don't _own_ her. She's not property—never mind _my _property."

"Actually, some of them were sold by their parents—" Mathias piped up.

"Ah, not another word, you horny wankers," the blond daemon snapped vexedly and irritatedly. Blushing, Arthur added, "It wouldn't be fair to them if I did that anyway—choosing one o-or _ones_ out of the lot. Some of them really do care—ah, forget it. Why would I bother speaking about this to you insensitive pricks? Neither one of you has even an _ounce_ of romance. At any rate, I'd rather wed someone with whom I am certain I am in love."

"Well, if you could hitch me a date with Miss Svana, I could show the both of you a thing or two about romance," Mathias chirped, swinging an arm around Arthur's shoulders.

"Sod off," Arthur grunted. "If you really knew a thing or two about romance, then you would have already swept her off her feet."

Gilbert snickered. "Mathias just had to choose one of the Amazons! It's too difficult for him to approach her!" the albino teased his giant of a friend, oblivious to the twitching of eyebrows and the building irritation. He wiggled his eyebrows at Mathias. "But, damn, the Norwegian one is really sexy, isn't she? In a cold, aloof kind of way! Not my type, but I can see where you're coming from, Mathias!"

Biting his lip to prevent himself from exploding with anger, Lovino marched into the living room and maliciously and violently kicked Arthur's armchair instead, shifting it only a fraction of an inch, as he demanded vehemently, "What the hell are we going to do now? You've had your fun with your women, so how are you going to keep your end of the bargain?" Lovino narrowed his eyes at Arthur wearily and suspiciously, tentatively reminding the daemon, "Your deal was—!"

"—to keep you and your brother safe, along with Carriedo, I know," Arthur responded with an exhausted smile. The Italian could feel his heart jump—startled—at the sight in front of him, and he nearly missed the snickering of their audience of two. "I apologise sincerely for the wait, but I have to ask you one last question." Lovino arched an eyebrow, awaiting the inquiry apprehensively, and when Arthur didn't speak immediately, Lovino was about to nudge him. However, the Briton sighed and grabbed onto Lovino's hand, his fingers wrapping around his wrist as if to search for the pulse. Lovino would have pried the pale, wiry fingers off his limb if it wasn't for the fact that he was paralysed with shock. Arthur pulled Lovino closer, and the Italian stumbled forward, almost tripping over his own two feet, before he was forced to stare into jaded emeralds. "Are you okay with returning to Rome?" the Briton whispered quietly.

Fear gripped at his heart at the mention of his home town. Of course he was okay with returning to Rome; he loved Rome with all of his heart—the weather, the food, the culture. Therein laid the problem and the source of his insecurities. Rome was the base of operations for _La Famiglia Divina_. It was where the Vargas estate was located, a place he used to call home; now the Vargas estate was nothing more than a prison that caged his little brother, a hostage to keep Lovino away from succeeding his grandfather's legacy. Was it okay for him to come back to Rome?

"If we are to return," Arthur continued, "then you cannot roam the streets alone. You do understand that, correct? I can't risk you endangering your life; it's... it's not part of the arrangement I've made with your grandfather. Once you and your family—as in your brother and Carriedo—are safe, I will have to stay a tad bit longer in order to carry out the rest of my objective." The blond pursed his lips together as he attempted to piece together his next message; the green of his eyes grew muddled and clouded, darkening into a hazy fog or mist of sorts. He spoke hesitantly, "I actually cannot have you wander freely now that you know the secrets of the Otherside either. You're not one of us, nor are you a witch or a warlock who've signed their name into the Black Book."

Lovino's heart stopped almost completely. "W-What do you mean?"

"I mean," Arthur clarified, dropping his head in shame, "you're our prisoner—until, hopefully, further notice."

Time stopped, and Lovino froze in place—a statue, petrified—as the words echoed within his empty mind, resounding and reverberating in a dark void. "What about Antonio?" he whispered.

"He knows nothing more than our existence, which is something similar to putting one's faith in a god or some other deity," Gilbert spoke up. "He never asked questions; he never wanted answers. He just took our word and left it at that."

But _I _did, Lovino recalled glumly, remorsefully, ashamed and appalled, because I was the one who asked questions and wanted answers... and I got them—_most_ of them.

"We aren't bound by any law forbidding us to speak of the Otherside to humans," Mathias explained, "but _you_ are. If you don't sign your name into the Black Book, then there's no guarantee that you can live freely as you've always had."

"Essentially, by signing your name into the Devil's Black Book of Names," Gilbert informed, "you relinquish your humanity for greater knowledge and power. You're not quite human any more, but neither are you a daemon. You're an existence in between—a magician of sorts... but not just any street or show magician. Most mortals refer to such existences as witches and warlocks."

Lovino gulped, recalling all that he knew about the witch hunts and witch trials that reigned terror among God-fearing men centuries ago across the European continent and their colonies, and inquired, "Isn't there any other way...?"

"You could form a contract—!" Gilbert was elbowed roughly by Mathias, who had quickly sensed the change in Arthur's attitude. The werewolf glared indignantly at his friend, but even he soon understood the reason why Mathias had ribbed him. He sealed his lips shut and allowed Mathias to speak in his place.

"We could erase your memories," Mathias suggested, "but a successful erasure needs to be completed by a skilled mage—a natural born sorcerer, mind you, not one that gained powers through a contract with demons."

Arthur nodded in agreement, commenting. "I can do that for you," the blond informed softly, gently and warmly—like a guardian to a terrified child—as he stroked the back of Lovino's hand in comforting, soothing motions. Lovino unknowingly returned his grasp, tightening the hold on Arthur's hand. "I can erase your memories when this is all over—after we rescue your brother and after we eradicate the family."

"E-Eradicate? W-What? Why?" Lovino spluttered.

"Someone's corrupted your grandfather's legacy," Gilbert explained coolly, "and we can't simply stand by and let it happen—especially Arthur. He's made a deal, and now he's bound by the terms of the contract even though the human is no longer alive. If you're in danger or if your brother or Toni is in danger, then he has to act in regards to your grandfather's wishes."

"Arthur always keeps his word," Mathias assured. "He _is_ the King of the Underworld."

The blond was silent. "You..." he inhaled deeply and exhaled sharply, forcing himself to remain calm. Lovino could feel the daemon's fingers twitch against his flesh. He was aggravated, agitated, and irritated. "You bloody gits told him what I was?"

"We told him _who_ you are," Mathias clarified with a sheepish grin. "We weren't supposed to do that? Tell him that you are our king?"

"You do realise that, by doing so, you've given him vital information about my identity and made this mess run even deeper than it already was?"

"Well..." Gilbert faltered. "Shit."

The gears started revolving in Lovino's mind, and they suddenly clicked into place. With every thought and realisation, his heart pounded faster, throbbing and aching, and his breath quickened in disarray. Arthur had told him about the nullified agreement or arrangement between him and Antonio along with his grandfather's last "request," which the three girls from earlier and Gilbert and Mathias had later confirmed to be a contract. A contract, as Arthur had informed him yesterday, is formed between a demon and a human, and together the two of them are bound by an agreement, chained to one another until death. Since Arthur had formed a contract with his grandfather, Arthur was a demon, and he's not just any demon. Arthur was the King of the Underworld with a harem of twenty-four concubines. Lovino was currently residing with the Devil.

The Italian boy cried in shock as Arthur's cold hands cupped his face, and he nearly batted the daemon's hands away and leapt backwards. However, the grasp was stronger than he had thought, and Lovino was forced to stare into the calm green plains of Arthur's eyes. His breathing slowed, gradually returning to normal, as he drowned within the depths of the emerald waters of the Aegean. "Look at me," Arthur demanded, his tone heavy and forceful but cool and smooth, "look into my eyes. Are you looking?"

"_S-Sì_," Lovino answered quietly, steadily calming from his panic.

"Good," Arthur whispered so softly that only Lovino could hear him. Arthur's moist breath brushed against his plush lips, and Lovino pursed them together—absent-mindedly flicking his tongue over his lips—as he kept his amber orbs locked with Arthur's gaze. "Good," he repeated. "How are you feeling, Romano? All right?"

He wanted to hear more of that voice, and a part of him was inclined to speak such an honest truth. Nevertheless, he managed to control himself and willed himself to answer, "_Sto bene_... _Perché_?"

"Never mind that," Arthur continued in that whispering tone, soft and gentle like a calm and easy breeze on a fine summer's day, his words rolling lightly like the steady ocean waves onto the shores of a beach. "Are you thinking?"

"_No, non lo sono_..."

"Good," Arthur exhaled with a ginger smile that travelled to his emeralds, making them sparkle with a subtle light—relieved of the darkness—only Lovino could see. "That's good, Romano. Relax, just like that, just as you are, and don't worry about a thing. I'll take care of you, I promise. I'll protect you and keep you out of harm's way; nothing will happen to you—not to you, to Carriedo, or to your brother. I'll take care of you." With that, Arthur pulled away, dropping his hands from Lovino's face, and the Italian nearly reached out for him before he caught himself in the act. What was he thinking? His cheeks reddened as he glanced at Arthur's smiling face, his eyes lingering on his pale lips, before turning away.

He couldn't have been thinking that he wanted to be cared by Arthur. They've only just met, and what was that just now? Hypnotism?

"That was sexy," Gilbert commented from behind the Italian boy with a wide grin on his lips. "I haven't seen you act that way in _ages_, Art." The Briton promptly rolled his eyes, the smile immediately replaced with a scowl. The older daemon focused his attention on Lovino yet again, and the Italian tensed upon realising that those deep emeralds were fixed upon him.

"You don't have to worry about anything," Arthur assured him. "There wasn't any magic involved; you have my word."

"When Arthur gives his word, he means it just as much as he keeps it," Mathias swore with a grave expression in his eyes.

"We'll leave for Rome tonight," Arthur informed quietly. "I need you to agree not to wander by yourself, Romano. Otherwise, I can't do anything for you or your grandfather."

Enraptured by the hard emerald jewels, Lovino nodded his head once and confirmed—though in an unsteady, uncertain voice—his response verbally, "Y-Yeah, I... I won't wander around town by myself, you paranoid bastard."

"That's a good lad," Arthur responded with a succinct smile—gentle and tender—that lingered more in his eyes than on his lips. He patted Lovino's head, ruffling the brown tresses, before asking, "Do you have the blueprints to your house?"

"I... I didn't think to take them with me when I ran," Lovino confessed sheepishly.

"What's going on, _amigos_?" Antonio asked as entered the scene, drying off his hands. He narrowed his eyes at the distance—or lack thereof—between his cousin and his ex-lover. "I heard something about Rome. Are we... Are we going back to Italy?"

"Tonight," Arthur confirmed, ignoring the suspicion Antonio directed at him. "It's best that we get a feel of the city and then plan a route from thereon. Carriedo, do you have the blueprints to the Vargas estate?"

"_Sí_," answered the Spaniard shortly, "I stole them from _Abuelo_'s desk in the middle of the chaos—mistook them for the deed of the house though. I wanted to have the proof of Lovino's ownership in our hands rather than theirs, but... that didn't turn out well." He gave a sheepish grin and chirped, "But, hey, my mistake came in handy, didn't it?"

* * *

The wolves in Italy did not fear the humans and occasionally strolled through piazzas to search for food. A certain wolf with a large, muscular build and long, powerful limbs, however, crept within the shadows. His fur coat gleamed like white snow, a strange colour to see in wolves inhabiting the region, while his dark eyes glowed red from the heated blood flowing through his veins. It wasn't hard to distinguish him from any other predators in the wild, especially in the dark forests, but his strength was enough to hold him on his own—making him the leader of the pack. A younger wolf, not much older than a pup, with dark golden fur and icy blue eyes approached him. Their eyes connected for a moment as though exchanging a silent conversation before the latter disappeared into the forest greenery.

The white wolf then pattered across town, wandering into the countryside, most curiously. There was not much farmland here with little to no livestock he could hunt. There was, on the other hand, a vast white mansion with property expanding across several acres. Its architectural design drew inspiration from Ancient Roman and Romanesque structures as seen in its large and tall ivory columns carved with complex curves and spirals, its vaults and arches, and its stained windows.

For a moment, the wolf admired the mansion before trotting closer and closer, still lurking in the shadow. He froze immediately upon hearing the click of a gun and, even though he knew that a bullet would not kill him, began to tread softly and quietly after recovering from the initial surprise. The sentry at the front gate muttered under his breath in Italian, something the wolf couldn't understand, before putting away his weapon.

Circling the mansion, the wolf evaluated his surroundings once more, one last time, before pulling away from the countryside. Within the shadows, a tall young man took his place as he sauntered into the suburban streets of Rome. A pair of shades covered his sensitive eyes while a flat-billed cap covered his snowy white hair, protecting what it could of his pale skin. The thin fabric of his red jacket coated his muscular arms from the dangerous rays of the sun while while the hood was pulled over his head. He crept within the shadows, the fabric of his jeans rustling lightly and the soles of his runners pounding faintly among the noises of the crowd. His eyes ghosted appreciatively at the culture about him.

"Nice weather, wonderful culture, fantastic food, beautiful people..." Gilbert sighed. "I _love_ Italy!"

Someone clasped his shoulder with an enormous hand that would have had little trouble palming his entire head like a spherical ball. There was a friendly laugh as the newcomer mused amiably, "What is there _not_ to love, Gilbert?" The albino shrugged Mathias' hand off his shoulder with a wry grin, and the revenant continued to speak, "I've confirmation from Lukas and the others that they'll join us if we need it. What about you?"

"Lutz is already in Rome," Gilbert informed quietly, lowering his voice and remaining in the shadows, "but he's anxious to get back on schedule. The rest of Kerberos will come to help us out if it's really necessary." The werewolf beamed haughtily and crowed, "This _is_ the awesome me, after all! I can handle anything!"

Mathias laughed with his friend, and once they managed to quell their laughter, the taller daemon inquired, "Does Arthur know about your pack coming?"

"I haven't told him yet," Gilbert replied honestly. "I just got word from Lutz. I'm planning to head back to the manor after picking up some street food. What about you?"

"He's probably still locked up in that tower, so I haven't had a chance either. Anyway, I thought you were a hunter," Mathias commented teasingly. The two of them took a moment to admire their friend's magical abilities, appraising how the interior of Arthur's English manor remained the same even though the exterior was now disguised as an apartment in Modern Centre. "'There's nothing better than tasting the flesh of your prey within your canines,' or so I thought."

"This is _Italian_ food," Gilbert reasoned. "This is an exception! This and Maddie's pancakes! There are always exceptions!"

"You _do_ realise that you get sick because you eat Madeline's pancakes, don't you?" Mathias remarked pointedly. "It doesn't agree with your diet as a carnivore."

"What's a day or two of diarrhoea if it means seeing Maddie's cute little smile?" Gilbert dismissed nonchalantly with a flick of his wrist. "She's a sweet little thing! I just want to cuddle up with her sometimes! I don't understand how she's twins with that unfeminine tomboy Amelia! I don't understand why she's a succubus either! I can't see her as anything but an innocent little virg—!"

"Okay, okay, calm down," Mathias mused as he kicked his friend forward. "Go get your Italian street food—nothing that _isn't_ meat, please. Nobody wants to deal with your bowel problems!" Gilbert pouted childishly and, with his tail between his legs, scampered to the nearest food stall. Later, the two of them strolled back to Arthur's English manor-turned-Roman apartment in the heart of Modern Centre.

Of course, the two of them returned to an infuriated and a rather incomprehensible lecture.

"You _bastards_!" Lovino screeched, flinging a couch pillow at the two undead. Gilbert yawned as the pillow hit him square in the chest while Mathias smiled sheepishly at the Italian boy, whom Antonio was attempting to calm. "It's been _three days_ since we've gotten here and three days since you two said that you would be doing reconnaissance! What the hell have you learnt?! Absolutely nothing! You two _and_ that damned bastard!"

Contrary to Lovino's seething anger, the five guardian spirits have been playing a game of tag upstairs for the past half-hour. Their tiny little footsteps could be heard on the upper level with the occasional gleeful shriek, and the five children were happily and merrily oblivious to the scene occurring downstairs.

"_Mein Gott_, Lovino," Gilbert griped, "don't bitch at me because Arthur hasn't been paying attention to you like he did that morning when the two of you—" he heightened his voice into a dramatic falsetto and crooned in a sickening manner "—looked into each other's eyes." Rolling his red eyes, he blatantly ignored Lovino's simmering anger and asked bluntly, "Where is he anyway? Still locked up in the Tower?"

"_Chigi_!" Lovino shrieked, chucking another throw pillow at the two daemons in the living room. "I am _not _'bitching,' okay?! Like hell I know what that mysterious bastard has been up to! He won't open the damn door to anyone! He's been stuck in that room for the past three days after he wandered around the damn city in a circle!"

According to the children and their magic marbles, whenever Lovino or Antonio had asked where Arthur was on their first day back, they had pointed to North Centre, the Vatican, Trastevere, Esquilino-San Giovanni, and Nomentano on the map. Afterwards, Arthur had returned, seemingly beaten and exhausted after trekking about the city, and marched upstairs to what was called the Tower. Nobody had seen him for three days, and he hadn't so much even climbed downstairs for a single meal. When Antonio had asked if it was okay to leave the blond like this, Gilbert and Mathias had replied dismissively while Kiku assured them all was fine and all would be fine. The children didn't seem concerned either, but all of this unnerved Lovino despite the fact that his stupid cousin was taking everything in stride.

"Welcome back, Beilschmidt-sama, Køhler-sama," Kiku greeted politely as he stepped into the scene, cutting off Lovino's tirade much to Gilbert and Mathias' relief and appreciation. Unlike the first time Lovino had met him, Kiku wore a neat black suit with a dark grey waistcoat that unintentionally emphasised his slender build instead of his traditional garbs. Bowing at a perfect ninety degree angle, Kiku informed the two undead like a most diligent steward, "It may not be necessary, but I must remind you that His Majesty has requested absolute silence and states that he would remain in the Tower until further notice."

"Aren't you dressed nicely, Kiku? You look just like a butler!" Gilbert mused.

"Beilschmidt-sama, I _am_ a butler," Kiku remarked curtly.

Ignoring his terse response, the albino continued, "What's the occasion? Are we having a party?"

"Not at all, but three days should be enough for His Majesty to recuperate all of the energy he has exhausted teleporting in the past several days along with restoring the pentagrams of London and Rome," the familiar explained blandly.

Lovino clicked his tongue in disdain, not noticing that Kiku had arched an eyebrow at the sound, upon realising that was what Arthur had been doing on the first day back—travelling in circles in the north, north-west, south-west, south-east, and north-east. It was all to ensure their safety, and he would do so by exhausting himself. Ha, Lovino scoffed, what a noble bastard—for a demon.

Without paying any heed to Lovino, Kiku continued debriefing his allies, "Before his isolation, His Majesty made sure to inform me of the mission's execution. It should occur this evening, but I shall remain at home to supervise the children and yourselves unless all proves fatal. Gilbert shall lead the search party while Mathias is to take care of the eradication after confirming the safety of the younger Vargas brother."

"What about Arturo?" Antonio stepped into the living room at that moment, having caught wind of what was being discussed without him while sauntering down the corridor. His green eyes were dark for a change, solemn and serious, as he focused on the fox spirit in the centre of the room. "And what about me and Lovi?"

"His Majesty believed it quite dangerous for two humans to become involved with the mission and that you two—as his charges—would be safer remaining at home," Kiku informed, "and I support him on that notion. However, despite the fact that we have the blueprints, there are some disadvantages; for instance, it is still unfamiliar territory. Since it is a private estate, the closest we have been able to approach it is the fence by ourselves without His Majesty's magic, and because of that we need someone to lead the search party to cover what we cannot see at the base. Additionally, since we are unfamiliar with Feliciano Vargas, it would be to our advantage if there is someone who can confirm his identity, safety, and retrieval."

"What you are saying is, then," Antonio concluded, "that we are to be your guides and escorts?"

"Only one of you would be necessary for this job, and ideally," Kiku paused before repeating for emphasis, "_ideally_, Romano-sama would be the one to remain at the base." Before the Italian could protest, the Japanese fox spirit explained, "Because Romano-sama is Romulus Vargas' heir, he would be the prime target. On another note, His Majesty has also observed that Romano-sama does not perform well in the face of danger and has a lower athletic ability than Carriedo-san."

"Isn't it _natural_ to run away from what you're afraid of?" Lovino retorted. "If you don't want to die, then you run away and get away! That's perfectly logical! But this is different! This is my _fratellino—_my little brother—dammit! I'm not going to sit around and twiddle my thumbs all night waiting for you bastards to get back!"

"_Entiendo_! I understand, Lovi!" Antonio exclaimed, placing his hands on his cousin's shoulders, and peering into his watery hazel eyes. "I understand what you are saying, where you are coming from, and why you say this, but, Lovi, you are important to your grandfather!"

"So are _you_, dammit! But Feliciano is his favourite—_definitely_ his favourite—and I'll be damned if I let something happen to my _fratellino_!" Lovino snapped. "I may not have been a good _fratellone_ to him all of this time, but I'm not going to abandon him—not this time! For his sake, and for _Nonno_'s sake!"

"Then come," Gilbert stepped into the argument with mild irritation in his one. "Listen, Keeks here said that _ideally_ Lovino should stay here. It doesn't mean that he definitely has to stay here, but Arthur would want it that way. However, Arthur knew—most likely—that you wouldn't want to stay here. That's why he said _ideally_, but nothing is ever an ideal situation—especially when it comes to Arthur. The two of you can come, and my pack and I will protect you. It's what Arthur would want anyway if the ideal situation doesn't work out."

"H-How come you're speaking of him like he's dead already?" Lovino asked of the werewolf. "He's... He's not dead, is he?" Not that it matters, the Italian remarked to himself. He's only a demon, after all, and the Devil. The only use he had was his otherworldly powers and shit that could come in handy during this mission. A part of him wondered if the King of the Underworld could truly die so easily though from three days of malnutrition or whatever, and a part of him wished that certainly wasn't the case. Why? Lovino wasn't quite sure himself, but he was positive—absolutely _positive_—that the reason laid within the fact that Arthur could help retrieve his little brother.

The moment he thought so, beautiful green emeralds flashed in his memory, and he attempted to dismiss the notion. At the same time, Gilbert and Mathias briefly exchanged glances—initially ones of bemusement that soon morphed into ones of amusement—before bursting into laughter, howling and roaring, shaking the manor's foundation. The pattering footsteps of the children running about the floor upstairs ceased for a moment as the two undead guffawed before quickly resuming, thundering down the stairs, as they each poked their heads into the living room curiously. "Uncle Gilbert," Alfred called out cautiously, "are you and Uncle Mathias okay?"

"We're _awesome_!" Gilbert replied as soon as he calmed down. "Thanks for asking, _Junge_!"

"Hey, while you're down here," Mathias suggested amicably to the children, taking a seat on Arthur's uncomfortable Victorian era sofa, "why don't you tell Lovino what Arthur has been up to in the Tower?"

"Artie's been sleeping," Alfred chirped. The other children nodded in agreement. "Artie is always sleeping whenever he's not reading or working or playing with us or, uhh, knitting!"

"Embroidering," Angelique corrected.

"Yeah, that!" Alfred beamed.

"_Che cazzo_?" Lovino hissed under his breath—the vehemence not directed towards Alfred but towards logic and Arthur himself—as he wondered aloud, "There's no way someone could just willingly sleep through three days..."

"You're forgetting that Arturo isn't human, Lovi," Antonio reminded pointedly with a wry smile. "There are some things we simply cannot understand."

As Antonio spoke, Kiku knelt in front of Alfred and the other children. In a gentler tone of voice, he informed them softly, "Soon, His Majesty will need you five to do something very important. He needs you to help protect Romano-sama and the others. Can you help me do that? Lend me your powers?" He smiled when they all nodded obediently.

Angelique soon stepped forward with her velvet bag of marbles. She dropped to her knees, pouring out the colourful marbles and asked Uncle Gilbert, Uncle Mathias, Monsieur Antonio, and Monsieur Romano to choose a marble of different colours. Gilbert immediately snatched up a red marble on which Matthew commented, saying that it matched his eyes, while Mathias picked up a dull blue marble, stating that it matched Svana's eyes. Lovino rolled his eyes at the two undead and randomly selected a clear, transparent green marble while Antonio chose a golden one for good luck. As Angelique and Matthew gathered the marbles on the floor, Jia Long picked up the marbles from the four adults. Kiku spread out the blueprints of the Vargas estate with Alfred and Neeraja's help onto the coffee table, layering each floor on top of each other in the proper order.

The five children gathered around the coffee table, joining their hands together, and closed their eyes in perfect synchronisation. The maps levitated, each with a congruent amount of space between one another, and soon were connected in a holographic scale model projected by light molecules within the vicinity. The four marbles hadn't budged an inch closer to the projection of the Vargas estate.

"The marbles you have selected will represent you in this scale model," Kiku explained—mostly to Lovino and Antonio. "The children have associated your souls with the marbles, and unless you encounter a demon or meet with a near-death experience, there is no way you cannot be tracked and monitored."

"They've... They have done this before," Lovino recalled from his first day in London. "They used it to find Arthur in... in Enfield, right?"

"His Majesty and other demons are a special case," Kiku answered politely. "It is the same objective but a different method. As demons lack souls, they are marked instead by their essence, which is basically made of the intensity of their sins and of their power." His voice was levelled, flat, and monotonous, giving no way for emotion or life, yet in spite of the hollow words resounding within Lovino's ears, he could hear the sorrow with which Kiku spoke and—strangely—Lovino could feel that same sorrow as well... Sorrow for Arthur.

And he laughed to himself just momentarily.

He felt sympathy for the devil, for God's sake.

* * *

**A/N:**

About the French blood comment earlier in the chapter, the Louisiana Purchase in US history involved Thomas Jefferson purchasing a good lot of land from Napoleon Bonaparte (without telling Congress at that!). The area today has a Cajun culture, influenced by the French, that attracts a fair number of tourists. Canada has Quebec, a predominantly French-speaking province with French as its official language. Seychelles was a former French/English colony as well. In these three countries, French-based Creole is still spoken as well, like in Louisiana. I'm actually a FACE family sort of person, ha.

I don't have much of an opinion on PruCan or DenNor, but Gilbert was fawning over Madeline (fem!Canada) earlier and Mathias to Svana (fem!Norway). I thought it would be humorous to do so, haha. There's not much focus on other couples in this story though aside from Arthur/Harem (a parody of England/World, maybe?) since everything is about Lovino and Arthur's development.

Additionally, daemons (Underworld daemons at least) aren't prohibited from speaking about the Otherside because, well, how else are they going to entice humans? Demons especially use the appeal of the supernatural to lure humans into forming contracts or signing away their names and humanity. Upon learning of the Otherside, however, humans can't go back unless drastic measures are taken as in memory erasure. I hope that explains it a little more.

About Arthur's "sleep," well, daemons may not require sleep, but on Earth their powers are restrained. They need to regain their energy somehow by either feasting or going through other regenerative processes. That means, essentially, that Arthur's sleep is not quite sleeping, but since Alfred was explaining, it was the best way to phrase it. There'll be more on this later in the story since Lovino's not that deep into the Otherside just yet!

And thank you to everyone who has reviewed or favourited or followed this story!


	6. Chapter 5

**V: The Angel**

One step, two steps...

Lovino quieted his breathing as he followed after Gilbert who was in the lead. Antonio, ever so diligent, remained at his side to support him while Mathias brought up the rear of the party. Fallen leaves crunched under their feet, and grains of pebbles and dirt ground against the soles of their shoes.

Three steps, four...

Gilbert pressed his back against the wide trunk of a tree. He pressed his finger to his lips as though to silence their stillness as his red eyes peered over the edge of the tree, keeping the palm of his hand raised in a gesture that demanded them to halt in their steps. Lovino counted in his head the ticking seconds—one... two... three... four... five—to keep himself calm before the albino motioned the Italian boy and his Spanish cousin to approach him.

Five steps, six steps, seven steps more...

Without so much of a warning, Gilbert rolled onto the ground, taking the time to transform into a wolf within the briefest flash of light, and caught himself on his four legs. If it wasn't for the large hand slapping over Lovino's mouth, muffling and suffocating the surprised yelp, the brunet would have shrieked with surprise. Antonio was much too astonished to react on the other hand, but quickly brushed off the matter while Lovino was still recovering from the shock. Gilbert turned about face to focus his eyes on his party members, as though communicating something to them, but Mathias was quick to cover both Lovino and Antonio's eyes instead of their mouths.

"Don't look into his eyes," Mathias warned. "He's no regular werewolf but a special little creature called a hellhound. You look into a hellhound's eyes when they're glowing red or yellow, and you're dead. Since I'm already dead—or undead—it doesn't matter much to me, but you two are still living humans. With Gilbert, you can barely tell since he's albino, so don't even bother looking." Gilbert's eyes darkened bitterly before he gave Mathias a nod of appreciation. Then he dashed into the forest greenery. Lovino nearly followed the moment the large hand fell from his eyes. However, he was soon stopped shortly once Mathias jerked him back, and when Lovino gave the larger man a curious, questioning glance, the giant shook his head and whispered lowly, "Gilbert has to rendezvous with his pack first, and then they're going to sneak into the estate and search for your brother since you don't know where they're holding him. We'll continue the path without him for now and meet him around the estate. Your task is to figure out the fastest way to get to your brother after they find him. It'll take some time, so be on your guard."

Pursing his lips together, Lovino gave a curt nod, and he and Antonio assumed point to lead Mathias in the direction of the Vargas estate in silence. Cowering in the shadows of the woods, Mathias studied the mansion appraisingly. A rustle in the bushes sounded nearby though, and Lovino and Antonio immediately tensed although Mathias remained calm. Emerging from within the forests was a group of four, rather tall, men—all of whom were considerably pale like death like Mathias himself and quite young in appearance. The tallest of the newcomers approached Mathias, a man with hair of light blond and eyes of blue-green shielded by a pair of glasses. He was wearing a long coat and knee-high military boots despite the warm Italian climate, and he had soon clasped his hand onto the Dane's shoulder. Lovino's eyes widened in mild panic, wondering what was happening right in front of him, before noticing that Mathias was grinning ear-to-ear. Patting the newcomer's back heartily, Mathias hissed in excitement, "Good to see you, Best Bud!" His response was a grunt.

"_Anko_," another young man with pale blond hair and dark blue eyes addressed Mathias monotonously, "why did you call us out here?" He wore a cross barrette in his hair, a casual white button shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a pair of light grey jeans, and brown hiking boots.

"Isn't this place a little too hot even though it's night?" asked another one of the newcomers—one with platinum blond hair and violet eyes—who appeared to be the youngest of the bunch. "It's like I feel myself decaying here." His eyes drifted over to Lovino curiously before pulling away, his actions catching the attention of the Italian. He was dressed in a loose white, formless t-shirt with a black waistcoat and blue jeans with white pole climber boots reaching all the way to his knees.

"We _are_ in Italy, Emil," cajoled the fourth newcomer. He donned an amiable smile on a soft, gentle baby-face. Like the others, he appeared discomfited by the weather and was thereby dressed more comfortably in a white t-shirt with jeans and a pair of runners. Turning his attention to Lovino and Antonio, he mentioned, "It's warmer than what we're used to in the Nordic countries," before introducing himself as Tino. He gestured to the tallest of the four and introduced him as Berwald before moving over to the other two, Lukas and Emil.

"This is Lovino Vargas and his cousin, Antonio," Mathias told his friends before Lovino had a chance to introduce himself. "Lovino, Antonio, this is my—uhh—_family_. They're formally called a clan in the Underworld though. If I was to be honest, however, then I would say that I've adopted them all from beyond the grave. They're all revenants like me."

"_He's_ the boy Arthur wants to help?" Lukas inquired sceptically as he studied Lovino with his dead, lifeless eyes—unmoving and soulless. "Hm."

"What do you mean by 'hm'?" Lovino grumbled under his breath.

"I know the Victorian era had all sorts of hidden kinks behind those corsets and prim and proper exteriors," Lukas commented, "but I rather expected Arthur to have adjusted to the changing times now that he is living on the Surface World. I suppose tanned skin is still quite exotic for him. It is no wonder why he favours the Italian twins among his twenty-four concubines. Perhaps he still has that secretly perverse and perverted nature of his."

A furious blush heated Lovino's cheeks as the blood surged to his cheeks, reddening them into a scarlet fluster. Unable to face Lukas any longer, the Italian boy dropped his head and burned his hazel gaze into the dirt ground below his feet. A well of emotions swelled in his chest, bursting and erupting with such an overwhelming force that bewildered Lovino himself. Was he ashamed or angered or embarrassed? Certainly, it was safe to say that he was frustrated, nevertheless, but Lovino couldn't name what he was feeling exactly although he could say that he was definitely confused.

Mathias, on the other hand, laughed. "You know Arthur wouldn't help out a kid just because he has a pretty face! You of all people know that's not the kind of person Arthur is—even though he really might be a closet pervert!" the Dane exclaimed as softly as he could. Still, to normal, typical standards, Mathias' "soft voice" was hardly soft and quiet at all! The rest of the party glanced about their surroundings immediately, scanning for any signs of disturbance, before relaxing. Lukas, Emil, and Berwald glared pointedly at Mathias along with the Italian boy.

"Wouldn't it be dangerous for all of us to break into the mansion?" Antonio pointed out quietly.

"Yeah, which is why only the two of you are going," Mathias informed with an encouraging smile. Upon seeing Antonio's bewilderment and Lovino's shock, the revenant clarified, "We—the five of us—are just the clean up squad. I'll take you to meet Gilbert, who will then lead you into the house while Kiku oversees the operation at the hideout. He'll interfere whenever trouble's brewing, so you don't have to worry about anything. Nine-tailed foxes of Japan are pretty famous for their hauntings and grudges, you know? This isn't a big problem for him; you'll be in good hands."

The moment he stopped explaining, a wolf with deep brown fur, tinged slightly with gold, and viridian eyes trotted cautiously to them. In a brief flash of light, a young woman with soft waves in her brown hair and earthy green eyes replaced its position in front of them. She was dressed casually like Mathias and his crew as well as Gilbert—a white corset-style camisole covered with a simple knit cardigan with a pleated black miniskirt and a green belt around her waist with combative boots. Had the situation been any different, Lovino would have chosen to sweep her off her feet. Inclining her head to Mathias and his motley family in a nod acknowledging his presence, she then focused her gaze onto Lovino and Antonio. "Which one of you is Lovino Vargas?" she inquired quietly. The boy in question stepped forward, and she jerked her head in a motion that told him to follow after her. "Ludwig, Gilbert's younger brother, is waiting with yours. On the other hand, Gilbert and Roderich, our beta, is clearing a path for us. Mathias, we will see you and the others later then?"

"Of course, Miss Héderváry," Mathias replied amiably with a nod of his head. "Good luck!"

Elizaveta cracked a smile. "Please, we have Gilbert," the brunette mused warmly. "We're going to need more than just _luck_." With that, she began to lead the way into the Vargas estate, and Antonio and Lovino obediently followed after her.

* * *

Kiku's dark eyes followed the movements of the marbles as they rolled onto and about the map, crossing the area marked as the back gardens and into the kitchen. Silently, he raised his hand, the palm facing the holographic scale model, and shut the lights in the building. The two marbles—green and gold—in the kitchen area paused for a moment before quickly resuming their gait up the stairs. On the way to the room holding their target, several clear glass marbles representing the other humans in the estate clattered and rolled off the map and onto the floor. It was most likely the result of the werewolves—or, rather, hellhounds—rendering them unconscious or, more likely, killing them. After all, eradicating the remaining members of _La Famiglia Divina_ was their second objective.

"Kiku," Alfred whined softly, "I'm tired..."

"Just a little longer, please, Alfred-sama," Kiku requested tenderly, running his hand through Alfred's hair. His eyes were trained, however, on the moving marbles approaching the target room. There remained a marble the colour of obsidian—Gilbert's brother, Ludwig. "We are almost done; I promise you."

There were five guardian spirits, and even combined with Kiku's powers as a familiar, they were all exhausted—including Kiku himself—due to the restraints of the Surface World. Although he had a considerable amount of power in comparison to the children, he was unable to unleash them in the Surface World or otherwise risk pandemonium and an uprising of Hell. Sealing himself in his human form, he instead aided the five guardian spirits of Arthur's home. So far, it had taken almost an hour for the werewolves to go ahead and search for the younger Vargas brother although they were skilled hunters, and now it almost took half of that time to rendezvous. A flood of relief surged through Kiku's chest as he realised that "Romano Kirkland" and Antonio had successfully met with Gilbert, but now they had to climb to the top floor in the farthest wing to rescue Feliciano Vargas.

"We are almost done," Kiku repeated softly and tenderly. His breath hitched in his throat as an oppressive, dominating power—aura—presence—strength—he didn't know _what—_thundered down the stairs in heavy, booming footsteps that resounded and reverberated all throughout the entire room, echoing in his ears. He struggled for a gasp of air, struggled to breathe, as he felt himself suffocate under that influence. It vanquished immediately as soon as it appeared, however.

Kiku raised his eyes to the stairwell, where he sighted a flash of a dark crimson coattail of velvety fabric before it disappeared right in front of him. He gasped in surprise and, startled, stumbled back a few paces as his eyes locked gazes with glowering, wild emeralds with dark, narrow slits for the pupils like the nocturnal hunter that he was.

"It's too bloody bright in 'ere," he grumbled, a heavy accent slipping off his suave tongue fluidly.

"My apologies," Kiku responded quickly, dumbfounded and flabbergasted. Having been taken by surprise, he nearly forgot whom he was addressing, but before he could correct his mistake, the older daemon spoke yet again, running a hand through his bedraggled reddish-blond—strawberry blond, perhaps—locks.

"That's enough, Alfred, Matthew, Angelique, Jia Long, Neeraja," he whispered softly. The red colour began fading; it appeared a soft pink tingeing pale golden strands underneath the living room lights now. The children immediately dropped their hands and leaned against each other, tired, as they all gave him a smile. He returned it warmly and tenderly, and they didn't seem the slightest bit unnerved that two of his incisors were pointed like their vampire friend's—Vladimir's—teeth. "You did well."

"Are you going now, Daddy?" Alfred inquired tiredly as he attempted to blink the sleep out of his eyes. The words slipped past his lips before he had a chance to recognise what it was that he was saying, what endearment he had just uttered. The American child smiled wearily at the demon.

"I am, lad; you lot get to bed now, yeah? Get snug and cosy, rest nice and warm, and I'll be back before you know it." Before he left, the demon smirked deviously at Kiku. "That includes you as well, mate."

"Understood, Your—ah," Kiku stopped shortly, noticing that the older daemon was no longer present in the house, "he's gone..."

* * *

"Hurry, the guards will be here soon! This way!" Elizaveta exclaimed softly as she pulled along Lovino and Antonio. The young woman pressed her back against the white walls of the mansion before peering past the window in the back-door leading into the kitchen. Without a moment's hesitation, she easily picked the lock with one of the pins from her hair before replacing it in its rightful position, holding back her long bangs. Once more, she led the way into the mansion, and as soon as the door closed behind them, the lights flickered on and off before shutting down completely. Lovino's body immediately tensed, but he felt Elizaveta tug impatiently on the sleeve of his shirt. "We must move!" Elizaveta hissed to the two humans. "This is one of Kiku's tricks from the hideout, so we can't stay here any longer! He is buying us time! Gilbert is on the second floor, so we must move quickly to save your brother!"

Lovino didn't need to hear that; he already knew that they had to move—swiftly and safely. Feliciano's life was at stake here! His brother was all that he had left aside from the tomato bastard! Dammit, where was Arthur? How come he wasn't here? Following Elizaveta step by step, relying only on his ears in the midst of his chaotic darkness, Lovino stumbled up the stairs and onto the first floor and then scrambled up another flight of stairs before he finally rounded the corner. He ignored another thud of a body; these bastards weren't his family any more. All he had left was Feliciano and Antonio, the two people who would never betray him.

Elizaveta faltered in her steps some, and her right hand trailed over her chest, resting over her heart, as she muttered, "Something is..."

"What's the matter?" Antonio inquired, but his concern was dismissed easily by the brunette.

"Nothing," she replied shortly before resuming her previous gait.

A hand grasped tightly onto Lovino's arm out of the blue, and the brunet nearly shrieked with fear and trepidation—especially upon seeing those crimson eyes. The Italian immediately averted his gaze, recalling Mathias words, before Gilbert spoke at long last, "You can look, you know. I'm not in my hound form right now. I don't have any powers as a human—just enhanced senses, I guess." As though to prove his point, the lights flickered momentarily, and Lovino caught sight of Gilbert's red runners. "Kiku and the kids must be getting tired," Gilbert deduced confidently as he glanced about their surroundings. The lights switched off once more. "We have to hurry and get out of here. They're only children, after all, even if they are guardian spirits and even if there are five of them." His voice was sympathetic and, to Lovino's ears, sounded rather guilty. "Lutz is—no, he should be—down this hallway and around the corner."

"Did you get that—that—that _feeling_, too?" Elizaveta inquired.

"Yeah, I sensed it," Gilbert responded brusquely, not wanting to comment any more on the topic. "Come on, Lizbet, Lovino, Toni!"

Now Lovino and Antonio followed after Gilbert with Elizaveta bringing up the rear.

"_Ehi, c'è qualcuno là!_" a heavy,booming voice bellowed from at the other end of the hallway.

"What did they say?!" the albino hissed to Lovino, who immediately provided a nervous translation.

"They know we're here!"

Gilbert cursed under his breath in what Lovino assumed to be German. He immediately pulled Lovino onto the floor, and Antonio was pushed down to the ground by Elizaveta. Gunshots instantaneously resounded in the corridor like a rain of bullets. They managed to avoid the volley, not that—as Gilbert huffed haughtily—it would have done much damage to a werewolf with the type of bullets they are—but the thunderous echo reverberated in Lovino's eardrums, freezing him stiff and tensing his body as he realised once more that these men were out for his blood, as the bullet pelted and penetrated various surfaces—walls, ceilings, floors, tables, and so on and so forth. He could _die_ if he wasn't careful. He wasn't immortal—or undead or whatever—like Gilbert and Mathias and Elizaveta. He definitely was not as brave—or reckless or whatever—as Gilbert and Mathias and Elizaveta—Gilbert _especially_—either. Lovino could only watch in mortified and horrified amazement and repulsion as Gilbert rammed into the gunner as a wolf, tearing and ripping into his flesh and splaying blood into the carpet and onto the walls, lacerating and mangling his arm, as the man attempted to prise his arm away from Gilbert's powerful jaw.

His comrade asked of the injured man what was happening in a fearful stammer, having heard his agonising and miserable cry of burning, scalding torture that tore at his arm like the flames of Hell.

The man Gilbert had mauled replied to the other, informing him of a wolf, in a strained, croaking voice, to which the ally responded with confusion, How could a wolf get into the estate?

"_No lo so_!" the man rasped—I don't know, he said—and he most certainly did not have the time to find out. Gilbert's eyes flashed a brighter red than the crimson blood flowing through them, illuminating the darkness, and the man withered with pain, shrivelling under Gilbert's nightmarish eyes, before falling limp to the floor. The other man scrambled for the nearest exit, but Gilbert was merciful to this one in comparison to the former Mafioso—now a wrangled corpse on the floor. His eyes glowered yet again, and the escapee collapsed to his knees, hand clutching at his chest through the fabric of his shirt, before he was rendered unconscious—if he had survived the attack.

"How barbaric and absolutely savage," chastised an accented—but somewhat elegant and sophisticated—voice. Stepping into the scene was a man with finely groomed brown hair and dark eyes behind a pair of glasses. Unlike Gilbert and the others, the man was dressed impeccably in a casual business suit with a pair of Oxfords on his feet. "It reeks of blood."

"You've no place to complain, Roderich," Gilbert remarked dryly. "Who is it that likes their steaks cooked 'rare,' or—should I say—_raw_? Ha! Just because you 'don't like to hunt' doesn't mean that you aren't any less 'barbaric' or 'savage' as the rest of us! We're _werewolves_ and _hellhounds—_carnivores, hunters, and predators to the end."

"Whenever that might be," the newcomer grumbled underneath his breath. He gestured with great flourish, motioning towards a specific direction, and spoke, "Come this way; I've cleared and secured a route that will help us reach young Ludwig and the Vargas boy more quickly! We must hurry!"

"As expected from Roderich!" Elizaveta beamed.

"Elizaveta, dear, bring up the rear and watch our backs, all right? I'll take point and show you the way," Roderich decided. "Gilbert, please stay behind me and protect the humans in the event that something unexpected happens. Are we clear?"

"Who the hell is Head Alpha here?" Gilbert snapped.

"Yes, yes, now come along!"

"One yes would have been sufficient, Roddy!"

In the middle of the mess, nobody bothered to introduce Lovino and Antonio to the werewolf Elizaveta had previously called a "beta" and instead continued the operation. As they travelled down the hall via Roderich's route, there truly was no longer any guards to impede their progress. Gilbert took it upon himself to barge through the double doors leading into Feliciano's newest suite and cage, the captors having relocated him from his bedroom as evidenced thus far. However, Lovino was quick to shove the albino aside, shouting, "_Feliciano, dove sei? Sei qui?!_"

"Hey!" Gilbert hissed, slapping a hand over Lovino's mouth. "Just because we've made it this far doesn't mean you can just shout and cry all you'd like!"

At that exact moment, the lights powered on, and across the other side of the room laid Feliciano's resting body. Sprawled on the floor, however, was a wolf with a coat of dark gold—lying limp and virtually lifeless. Gilbert's eyes widened with terror as he immediately dashed over to the canine, pulling it into his arms, and ignored his own advice, crying, "Lutz! Lutz, _kannst du mich hören_? Ludwig! Hey, Ludwig, _wach auf!_"

Elizaveta's trembling hands strayed to her pink lips as tears glazed over her eyes. "_Ó, Istenem..._" she whispered. Roderich immediately wrapped an arm around her waist in an attempt to comfort her. "H-How could this happen?" she asked of her fellow wolf, turning her watery gaze to the brunet. "Ludwig may have been the youngest of us all, but... but he was one of the strongest!"

Roderich turned his stony eyes to Lovino and told the Italian to check his brother _now_. "Young Ludwig's job was to stay with your brother and ensure his safety," the more elegant of the werewolves explained. "Something was here, and something had attacked them—or, at the very least, Young Ludwig."

Lovino didn't need to be told once; he was already running to his brother with Antonio close behind him. Dropping to his knees in front of the bed, he grasped his brother's paler, fairer hand and began to splutter uncontrollably, "Feliciano, wake up! Open your eyes! It's me, Lovino, your brother! Let's get away from here, Felici!" Still, no matter how much he cried, no matter how much he shrieked and shouted, Feliciano still did not stir. Despair crept into the cracks of Lovino's heart as he began to weep silently. "Feliciano," he muttered, slurring his words together, "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, Feliciano! I should have gotten here sooner!"

"Lovi," Antonio called to his cousin softly, "Feli is still very much alive. He has a pulse, and he is breathing. There are no signs of injuries either—not externally."

"Then why the hell isn't he waking up, you tomato bastard?!" Lovino snapped angrily and bitterly, directing his most furious and ferocious glare at the older man. "This can't be any regular sleep!"

"W-War..." someone groaned from the side. Lovino's eyes wandered to a burly young man with slicked blond hair coming undone in Gilbert's arms, taking the place of the dark golden wolf from earlier. His eyes pried open, revealing a steely blue gaze, as he rested his eyes upon Lovino. "Warlock..."

"Warlock?!" Gilbert repeated incredulously. "A _warlock_ did this to you? Lutz, you're a _hellhound_! You can handle any warlock! That's so not awesome!"

"_Nein, Bruder_," Ludwig grunted. "This was not... is not any ordinary warlock... not one that signed the black book... He... He is contracted."

"Contracted?" Elizaveta repeated as Roderich escorted her to the other members of the pack. Her green eyes darkened some as she realised the gravity of the situation. "By whom? Depending on the demon, he could have gained a considerable amount of power... But what gains does a demon obtain to have to make a contract with a Mafioso... Their souls are hardly ever... _rare_. They are a sinner's soul, after all, and Romulus Vargas was an exception!"

"Indeed," Roderich concurred with a nod of his head. "The only reason of which I can think and presume is that he or she was either bored or—and I do not like this suggestion one bit—he or she has a hidden agenda."

"Patrick," Gilbert growled under his breath. The werewolves grew deathly silent at the mere mention of the name, their visages paling considerably and their lips turning downwards in a grim line. All of the panic, anxiety, and nervousness Lovino had been harbouring in his stomach, containing within himself, burst with the building tension and pressure, crushing his shoulders like the weight of the entire earth. He held his breath in apprehension for the next set of orders and the next course of actions.

"Take the boy, _Bruder_," Ludwig advised, "and escape... I will be behind you shortly. It is too dangerous... even with the revenants. We must abort the operation; Romulus Vargas' request must be put on hold."

"Shut up, Lutz, and don't you dare talk," Gilbert hissed to his brother. "We're not leaving anyone behind, _verstanden_? We're a pack, and you're coming with us. We're not just Kerberos, okay? We're family, Lutz."

"How touching," cooed a mocking voice—heavily accented with Italian—standing at the doorway, "but you do understand that you're trapped in here, _giusto_?"

Everyone whipped their head to rest their eyes upon a man in his late forties with scarred and wrinkled skin—fairly tanned to a darker shade of olive from sun exposure—and a thick, dark moustache. His hair was just as thick and black with several silvery strands, slicked back to reveal a prominent forehead folded with age, frowns, and stress, and he wore a neatly pressed suit of black and white and a pair of white silk gloves on his hands. His polished leather shoes echoed against the marble floor as he approached the party as his elegantly carved walking cane clicked rhythmically.

"I am surprised, Young Master, that you've returned to the estate although—true it might be—it is still under your name," he mused. "You were always the cowardly type. It is truly a surprise that you've made an appearance here in spite of your current circumstances."

"Valentino," Lovino seethed vehemently, "was it you?"

"Me? Whatever have I done, _Young Master_?" he responded, feigning innocence. He spat out Lovino's (former?) title bitterly and sardonically. "Your grandfather passed away silently in his sleep; there was no foul play involved. If you are suggesting poison, I will have none of that. I respected your grandfather greatly, but... I find that your character, Young Master, is quite lacking." A wide smile stretched his lips. "I will not deny, however, that it was me who suggested that we chase you out of the house, and to make sure that you left, well, we kept your brother hostage." Valentino sighed and continued strolling towards the two Vargas brothers despite the growling and the snarling of the werewolves present—excluding Roderich, of course. "But, you see, Lovino," the Mafioso continued, "there are rumours—rumours of the demonic, or, rather, _daemonic_, underground. Assuming that, because you are here with these werewolves, you know of the Otherside, allow me to explain myself.

"Your grandfather was rumoured to have great power—not merely from his sphere of influence but also power belonging to himself. He was a strong man—not at all weak—but it is said that abilities even a daemon could admire. Demons especially had taken a liking to him, and it was said that they had viewed him as one of their own! Do you know why, Young Master? Your grandfather, Lovino, could see souls—an ability uniquely belonging to the demon race. Now, how could he possibly see souls if he was only a human?" The feral grin on his lips morphed into something utterly psychotic and deviant. "He must have made a deal with the Devil, I had thought, and so I had done the same. For as much as I admired your grandfather, I viewed him as my greatest rival. I wanted everything he had—his empire, his family, and, most of all, his _power—_so, Lovino, do you understand what I have done? I did not merely sign away my name in a black book; I made a contract with a demon! My soul and humanity in exchange for power! Ultimate power!"

He cackled wildly, violently, his eyes wide with lunacy, before he raised his hand and cried, "Come forth, O Mighty Beast! Heed my commands, for I am thy master, _Lucifer_!"

"Lucifer?!" Roderich exclaimed—appalled and terrified all the same. Elizaveta tightened her hold on Roderich, who returned her grasp. Gilbert instinctively covered Ludwig's limp body with his own as windows in the room flew open and a sharp wind whipped into the vicinity, thrashing about the curtains and the furniture and the paper and everything there was. Lovino clung onto Feliciano, and Antonio shielded the both of them, crying out in pain with the wind cut his skin like razor blades. Surging past the open balcony doors as it rose from the depths of the Underworld to the midnight sky was a creature so enormous that it damaged the threshold of the balcony doors swinging its powerful reptilian tail indoors. The floor near the balcony collapsed underneath the werewolves, who were the closest to the open windows, although Lovino and his family were still safe—but not for long. Slamming the end of his cane against the floor, Valentino had Lovino, Antonio, and Feliciano teleported outside to deal with the newest threat.

Valentino roared mercilessly with laughter, crowing in his native language, "Lovino Vargas, you have made a grave mistake by returning to this estate! You can say farewell to your life! Not even your werewolves can protect you from Lucifer's might! Not here on Earth when _I _have the advantage!" His eyes glowed menacingly as he sneered, "Alas, do not worry, dear boy! You'll see them again—in _Hell_!"

The creature upon which Valentino had summoned was a dark beast of with scales of pine green, feathers of midnight blue and fiery red, and eyes and talons of charcoal black; its body was clearly one of a dragon with expansive wings while its head was that of a rooster. True as to what he had just spoken, Gilbert and his pack were rendered unconscious from their free-fall, nearly buried underneath loose debris of the destroyed Vargas estate. Mathias and his family surely wouldn't come to their rescue, would they? They had to complete the second objective, after all, and perhaps they figured that Kerberos could handle whatever was thrown their way since they had Gilbert... However, Lovino couldn't help but hope and pray that maybe—just maybe—the Viking clan had heard the fray, got overwhelmed with concern, and were fast-approaching.

Nevertheless, indiscriminate to its victims and completely unaware of the mental perils Lovino was undergoing, the creature called Lucifer flapped its wings once, sending Lovino flying backwards with Feliciano still in his arms. His body collided with Antonio, who instantly wrapped his arms around his cousin's middle in an attempt to protect the two brothers. However, Antonio's back propelled into the trunk of a tree, and his head snapped back from the force, slamming against the hard wood. The Spaniard fell to ground, unconscious as well. The creature emitted a cacophonous squawk from its throat, and Lovino shut his eyes firmly, waiting for the end, tensing his body, bracing himself for the onslaught of miserable and agonising pain.

_Arthur!_

A gasp escaped his throat as he felt two strong arms wrap around his body from the front and a gentle warmth cradling his entire being in a tender embrace. He felt protected but... by what? Lovino raised his head and lost his focus among the emerald depths.

A blue flame.

Arthur had never noticed it before since he rarely ever made eye contact with a human, having lost interest in soul hunting sometime in the seventeenth century in favour of action and adventures on the high seas, but as he stared into deep amber pools, stirred with a mixture of polished jade, he could see them clearly past those dark pupils—a pair of blue flames. Enraptured and awed, amazed and mystified, Arthur could only stare into Lovino's eyes—taken and charmed and bewitched—and study them through the stained glass windows of amber and emerald, mixing into a splendid hazel colouring.

A pure blue flame.

Before Arthur was even aware of what he was doing, he reached out for Lovino with his right hand, tilting the Italian boy's face upwards with his fingers, to peer even closer. He had suspected that the Vargas bloodline had exceptional souls, including Lovino Vargas himself, but he hadn't expected this at all... His heart ached at the sight as he studied the blue flames of purity, finding a familiarity that he definitely had not expected, especially from _Romano_, a familiarity that rekindled an ancient emotion he thought had dissipated long ago with its warmth, a familiarity that made his chest contract and his stomach churn with an odd sensation. The flames danced vivaciously and sprightly, burning with an intensity that Arthur has always longed to see again in his entire longevity. How lively, he mused. How energetic this soul is! How... How... How...

"Beautiful," he exhaled, oblivious to the fact that his warm breath brushed against plush, Italian lips like a phantom's touch.

The enthralled boy's heart was pounding against his chest violently, and he could only pray that Arthur hadn't heard his agonising, frenetic heartbeat. A breath hitched in his throat as he felt a warmth ghost his lips. Staring into those bright, vivid emeralds that burned into his eyes like acid, Lovino was unable to pull his gaze away until Arthur dropped his hands from the younger boy's warmth. Lovino's heart plummeted as the distance between them increased. A gentle smile graced Arthur's lips as he mused, "You found your brother then..."

"He won't wake up," Lovino found himself replying, his voice strained and cracked with fear and nerves and sorrow.

"He's lost his soul; someone's taken it," Arthur explained softly, the smile fading from his lips. "I'll get it back for you," he declared firmly as he took another step away from the Italian boy. That was when Lovino finally realised what had protected him, his brother, and even Antonio.

White wings.

They protruded from Arthur's back, expanding wide enough to be able not only to cover the brothers and their cousin but also to wrap entirely around the three bodies while Arthur's arms had embraced Lovino tightly. White feathers cascaded from the sky, dropping onto Feliciano's chest softly and quietly like gentle snowfall, surrounding the two of them.

"You're..." Lovino faltered. An angel? But, no, Arthur called himself a demon. Everyone else referred to Arthur as a demon. The older man gave him a wry smile as he continued to back away from the Italian boy. He stood directly under the moonlight, the mousy—or was it strawberry blond now? Lovino questioned himself. It appeared as though the colour had changed subtly now—blond tresses of his unruly hair catching the glow, as his emerald depths softened subtly. A night zephyr swept between them, brushing aside the Briton's long bangs and caressing his cheeks. The tail of his long coat flapped gently in the breeze while the golden chains making up the shoulder strap of his epaulettes jingled lightly. His white button shirt was loosely buttoned, exposing his pale flesh underneath the moonlight, while a leather belt with a heavy metal buckle ran across his front.

"It's complicated," Arthur responded half-heartedly. "By the way, do not look into Lucifer's eyes; he's a cockatrice. Like Medusa, if you look into his eyes, you'll be petrified into stone. It's a difficult curse to undo—especially while we're still on the Surface World." The moment Lovino caught sight of his subdued green hues, a gentle and calming colour, however, they hardened immediately like the vivid gemstones they were. He pivoted on the heels of his dark brown combat boots immediately to glare at a faintly discouraged and intimidated Valentino. "I assume that you know who I am—or, rather, _what_ I am," he said to the Mafioso coolly and collectedly.

"With those wings and those eyes, of course I know," Valentino responded just as smoothly, a devilish smirk on his smug lips, contorting his face with an eerie sinisterness. "You are the angel that had never fallen from Heaven but instead rose from the depths of the Hell—the Britannia Angel, named after the land of his birth." Amusement and bemusement both tinged the smirk lingering on his lips. "You are different than what I've imagined—or about which I've read."

"If you're referring to the white toga, the magic wand, and gladiator sandals—that horrendous getup—then I'm sorry to inform you that I've abandoned that sometime in the eleventh or twelfth century," Arthur remarked sardonically, sarcasm and mirth dripping off his sharp tongue as he took another stab at the dark haired man standing across from him. "I apologise if I did not meet your expectations or possibly disappointed you."

"Not at all," Valentino replied, the smirk on his lips twitching with irritation as he realised that the blond was mocking him. "It is still quite an honour to encounter such a legend among the witches and the warlocks—and an idol among the daemons from the Underworld and the Heavens alike—the King of the Underworld, Your Infernal Majesty."

"It's not your first time meeting royalty," Arthur commented dryly as he glanced at the stilled cockatrice briefly. "If you've managed to summon my uncle's familiar, then I am correct to assume that you've made contact with him." Turning away from Valentino, he began to approach the tremendous beast with empty hands and an empty mind. "Lucifer, named after the angel in the Biblical story that spoke of his immense pride, thereby challenging his own father and maker, the beast of the First Prince of the Underworld, belongs to a demon who goes by the name of Patrick Brian Kirkland, the brother-in-law of my father and my own uncle—by marriage. Nobody but him and his wife, my aunt and my father's sister, can control this haughty creature as the Duke of Pride and Duchess of Vanity."

"You are not wrong, Your Infernal Majesty King Arthur," Valentino mused as he observed the Briton approaching the cockatrice. "I have formed a contract with the Duke of Pride."

"Is that so?" Arthur queried incredulously, taunt and jeering patent in his tone. "Then you wouldn't mind showing me your brand, would you?" A smirk tugged at his lips as he spotted the bewilderment crossing Valentino's expression. "Surely, you have one—the brand of a demon marking your soul and body as their property—burned into your flesh. You do, after all, believe that my uncle has formed a contract with you."

"What are you implying?" snapped the Mafioso.

"I'm not implying anything," the Briton responded calmly but contemptuously, "I'm being completely honest with you, ignorant sirrah. You've been fooled by my uncle. He has not formed a contract with you, and you are not bound by him and his powers. He has granted you nothing. You've been deceived."

"Impossible!" Valentino roared in an indignant, furious screech. "Then what will you say of this power I can use?! How do you explain this power that I've never used before in my previous life?!" He flailed his hands, and in response, Lucifer lunged towards Arthur. Lovino squeezed his eyes shut, tightening his hold around Feliciano's empty body, and awaited the impending disaster.

However, there was no scream or hisses of pain. There was no sonic boom or blast. There was nothing but silence. Lovino peered through the cracks of his eyes and found that Arthur was standing with his arm outstretched, the palm of his hand facing where Lucifer was previously. The cockatrice was nowhere in sight. A swirl of winds as sharp as a razor blade faded into a gentle evening breeze. Arthur's hardened emeralds glowered at Valentino.

"What insolence," he seethed dangerously. "You _dare_ cause great injury to your king?" Valentino was trembling in his shoes, stumbling back two steps at a time when Arthur approached him one step at a time. "In spite of your impudence, I shall enlighten you with what I know of my uncle, or, as you know him, the Duke of Pride, as well as demons in general." The more he spoke, the more prevalent his power, energy, and aura became. It dominated the vicinity, overwhelming all of the living creatures, and not only demanded but, moreover, commanded their absolute obedience. "We hunt for _beautiful_, delicious souls to which to bind in a contract, and yours is a dying flame no better than that of a shrivelling little beady-eyed rat. It is impossible for my uncle, high ranking demon that he is, to have developed an interest in your soul. Perhaps one of the weaker cambions may have formed a contract with you but never—_never ever_—one of the full-blooded nobles. In that light, my uncle sees use for you as a puppet through which he could channel his energy and power."

Valentino tumbled over a patch of dirt, falling onto his backside, as he stared up to Arthur with terror and trepidation laden in his dark eyes. "_P-P-Perché?_" he stammered fearfully, his heart pounding heavily and violently in his chest, daring to burst from fright as the blood in his vessels ceased to circulate. He visibly paled to the pallor of a ghost.

"Why?" Arthur repeated with bitter amusement seeping into his tone. "_Why?_" he repeated incredulously. A low chortle under his breath thundered into uncontrollable giggles, morphing into a maddened laughter. "'Why?' you ask? Because he wants me dead but he cannot kill me himself! After all, what is the biggest obstacle to the throne? The King resting upon it, correct? After removing me from the throne, he would obtain it for himself as the previous King's brother-in-law and as the duchess' husband, for Alistair is too fixated on his military might, Owain is too indifferent to politics, and the others are far too young! It is a simple solution to the question of a dead king!

"However, you see, therein lies an impediment he must overcome—the problem of a suitable vessel, one who could hold all of his power without imploding. Otherwise, his strategy becomes one of a battle of attrition. Can he challenge a king whose powers are sealed on the Surface World by exhausting himself because he is frequently switching rotting puppet after decaying puppet? Who will be worn first? It is not the first time he has attempted my life, Valentino. You are connected to me by six degrees: I encountered Carriedo in Spain, Carriedo is related to Romulus Vargas, who has two grandsons, Lovino and Feliciano, and who has conquered the Undergound, you are his underling, and as his underling, you sought power that you could not and cannot obtain. That is why my uncle chose you, a greedy, gluttonous, envious, prideful, and vengeful man who cannot work diligently with any amount of honour and dignity, a lazy wanker whose soul is no better than a rat."

Raising his hand, a sword materialised in Arthur's hand through particles of light, forming a short but broad sabre with a light curve, something Lovino vaguely recognised as a cutlass, glowing with silvery blue light that blinded everyone's eyes. Words were engraved on both sides of the blade with a decorated hilt and guard. Swinging the sword once in a downward motion, a cutting sound ripped the air as the tip of the sword pointed to Valentino's chest.

"Excalibur," the Mafioso exhaled with awe despite his current situation, "the mark of the true king, one of the three weapons belonging to the legendary King Arthur."

"It is otherwise known as the proof of my lineage and the reason why my uncle loathes me so," Arthur mused quietly. "Valentino De Luca of _La Divina Famiglia_, for committing all seven of the deadly sins, I will free your soul from the confinements of your decaying vessel." The emeralds of his eyes flashed like lightning, and the Mafioso quivered underneath Arthur's hard glare, beginning to mutter prayers to the God he had abandoned under his breath, as the Britannia Angel promised, "Don't worry. I'll save your soul."

In one fluid motion, the blade pierced through Valentino's chest cleanly without any trace of blood. Before Lovino had any time to screech with horror and mortification, Arthur rapidly retracted his sword, pulling it back from human flesh, and allowed it to evaporate into thin air. A flaming red-brown, perhaps maroon, flame poured from the open wound, flowing into seemingly nothingness like a stream.

"Back into the River Vitae you go," Arthur whispered softly.

In a burst of light, the wings dispersed into white feathers floating down to the earth like flakes of snow. Arthur collapsed onto his knees, panting heavily and violently, chest heaving up and down, before Lovino. In a bout of panic, Lovino left the care of his unconscious brother to the unconscious Antonio and dashed immediately to Arthur's side.

"Hey, bastard!" Lovino cried, his terror forgotten entirely, as he knelt in front of Arthur. "W-What's wrong? A-Are you okay?"

Arthur raised his eyes, locking their gazes once more, and peered into earthly depths concealing vibrant blue flames flickering dangerously.

"Don't worry about it," Arthur told the Italian boy softly with a gentle smile on his lips. "I've just exhausted myself. That's all. I've told you before that my strength is limited on the Surface World to keep from obliterating it. I really shouldn't spread my wings at all on the Surface World." Without thinking, Arthur reached his hand and cupped the side of Lovino's face, angling it so that he could have a perfect picturesque view of those gorgeous eyes and that brilliant flame. "How beautiful," he chimed, leaning closer and closer. He rested his forehead against Lovino's and chuckled, repeating, "How beautiful." He relished Lovino's fiery heat burning through the Italian's exotic skin and into his skin. "Please... Just..." Arthur pleaded quietly, "just let me stay like this for a little longer."

Lovino nodded stiffly and, unbeknownst to himself, pressed a chaste kiss on top of Arthur's nose. He didn't understand anything, but for right now, he'll let this bastard off the hook.

* * *

**A/N:** I use the European method of counting levels in a building in case that confused a few readers where there is a ground floor and every storey above that is assigned a number, so to speak. The level above the ground floor, then, is the first floor. The second floor in (North) American English then is the third floor.

The werewolves in this story actually transform into hellhounds, but, instead of the appearance of a dog, they appear more like wolves. They still do share some similar characteristics as hellhounds though like super-strength and -speed, a foul odour (in Gilbert's case), and the ability to talk (sometimes, according to Wikipedia). In European folklore, it's said that hearing a hellhound howl is a bad omen or a sign of death. Looking into their eyes three times or more, as Mathias had stated, leads to certain, if not imminent, death. In Greek mythology, Hades has a hellhound named Cerberus, which, as Gilbert had mentioned previously, is the name of his personal pack. Additionally, as Head Alpha, Gilbert is in charge of _all_ werewolves, not just the ones from his own pack.

Oh, and I'm not telling you anything about Arthur's wings here. That's for another chapter (the next one maybe), but I would love to hear some theories!

Now, just when Feliciano is finally rescued, another problem surfaces. What has happened to his soul?


	7. Chapter 6

**VI: Brothers from Hell**

"Fulfilling the objectives of Romulus Vargas' contract has become increasingly difficult," Kiku commented within the living room with the former Vikings and the recovering hellhounds, "if the Duke has become involved."

"He's always been involved," Gilbert mumbled childishly as he reclined on the Victorian sofa, "just like how he's always been a pain in the ass; it's so not awesome. Why the hell does he want the throne anyway? He can't handle it. Like I said before, he's not awesome enough!"

"The same reason why Lucifer rebelled against Heaven according to Christian theology," Arthur commented as he climbed down the stairwell, indirectly demanding silence throughout the living room. He was dressed in a dull green jumper, a white button shirt, and a pair of khakis and Oxfords. "It's excessive pride. Uncle Patrick has more than enough of that, and Aunt Bridget has always been a vain and spoilt crybaby. It's how the two of them tolerate each other, I suppose, over the centuries. At least they are suitable to their own title of the Seven Deadly Sins."

"Pity you've changed out of your formal wear," Gilbert commented with an expression that appeared as if he hadn't been listening to Arthur's remarks about his aunt and uncle. "You always look sexy in that royal getup—epaulettes and all. Anyway, should you even be up at all? You had your wings out last night, you know. That's some serious business—at least to the Scribe."

"Shut it, you nasty little wanker," Arthur snapped, rolling his eyes, though he couldn't suppress the amused smile tugging at his lips. "Don't mind me. I'm fine and walking, aren't I?"

"Gilbert!" Elizaveta exclaimed, elbowing the Head Alpha harshly and pointedly. She hissed under her breath to the albino, "This is not the time or place for that!"

"Ah, but you know you agree, Lizbet," Gilbert teased the brunette. "I've seen you drool over him—especially on a steed and in armour! When was the last time anyone's ever worn armour? The sixteenth, seventeenth century? Man, what I'd give to see Arthur in his knight armour!"

Clearing his throat, Roderich called all of the attention onto him. The brunet was seated to the right of Elizaveta at the end of the sofa while Ludwig occupied the other end. Kiku was standing off to the side of the room while Mathias occupied the arm chair. The other Vikings surrounded their family head. Arthur lingered on the staircase, training his green eyes on Roderich. The moment they had returned home, Arthur had collapsed in his room in the Tower, resting in order to regain his expended energy. The traces of his recuperation remained evident in his physical appearance. His mousy blond hair retained streaks of red, and his pupils were narrowed into vertical slits due to light exposure, controlling how much light entered his sight. "What shall we do now, Your Majesty?" Roderich inquired of his king. "We will obey your orders without question."

After a moment of contemplation, Arthur announced, "Kerberos will resume their patrol. I don't want to give Patrick any ideas—especially ideas that enlarges his already swelling ego. Mathias, your clan can return home if they would like. I still plan to carry out Romulus Vargas' wishes. The only problem now is that I have to go fishing in the River Vitae for his grandson's soul."

"I apologise, My King," Ludwig spoke up promptly, kneeling on the floor and bowing solemnly. "It is because of my incompetence that resulted in Feliciano Vargas' current state—"

"Ludwig, raise your head," Arthur interrupted the young werewolf with genteelness and gentility in his eyes though his expression was as grave as before and his tone no better. "It is not your fault; nobody expects or expected you to go against a Prince of the Underworld and emerge victorious." A wry smile crossed Arthur's lips. "There is a reason why they are the strongest in the hierarchy of the Underworld... except for Peter, of course, but he will be—in due time."

Everyone maintained their silence and made no comment on the aptitude of the youngest prince. After all, he was but a child appearing not much older than the guardian spirits Arthur has adopted, and because he was a child, not much was expected of him currently either. Mathias addressed his old friend at long last, "I don't understand why the Duke of Pride would take Feliciano's soul though. What reason is there behind such an action?"

Arthur shook his head in response. "I'm not sure myself," he confessed, "but I believe it is to secure our meetings and encounters. He knows I will not give up until Romulus Vargas' soul is truly at rest, and that will only happen if the terms of the contract—meaning _all_ of the terms of the contract—are fulfilled as arranged."

"How long do you think it'll take you to wipe out their bases?" Lukas inquired bluntly. "Vargas' empire spreads quite far. It shouldn't be a difficult task for a god to wipe out an entire _famiglia_, but it will take some time, won't it?"

Arthur huffed. "_La Famiglia Divina—_the Divine Family—don't make me laugh. There's nothing divine about it—not any more—so it shouldn't be difficult at all," the Briton grumbled under his breath. "It'll be tedious since the family expands throughout the globe and since there are restrictions of daemonic activity on the Surface World, but three months is all that I'll need."

"How's Lovino doing?" Gilbert asked.

"He's with his brother right now," Arthur informed quietly. "He seems to be in shock after all that's happened. This is why I didn't want him to go."

"You stabbed a man in front of him," Gilbert retorted pointedly, "so, of course, he's in shock." He ignored Elizaveta's threatening hiss and violent jab yet again. "I'm asking if he's going to be okay. He was acting pretty strange on the way back."

Arthur averted his gaze from Gilbert and dismissed the meeting. Lukas would be returning to Iceland with Emil, and Berwald and Tino departed for Sweden. In the meanwhile, Elizaveta collected herself and, together with Ludwig and Roderich, resumed their patrol route across the mainland European continent. Gilbert and Mathias settled on their next target in Sicily and planned a path around Italy, across Europe, and then to the Americas from thereon while Kiku would make arrangements for breakfast. Arthur, on the other hand, climbed up the stairs to the upper floor of his manor.

"Artie! Artie!" Alfred exclaimed, jumping onto the Briton and wrapping his legs around Arthur's middle. The daemon was thrown off balance for a moment before recovering and properly propping Alfred against his hip. "How's the mission? Did you beat the bad guys?!"

"Alfred! Calm down, lad," Arthur mused aloud with a fatherly smile on his lips. He sauntered down the corridor with his oldest in his arms and responded to the boy's prior question, "It went rather smoothly, and, yes, we did beat the... the_ bad guys_." The noun rolled off his tongue hesitantly. They may have defeated Valentino, but that pitiful creature was not their main target. Arthur knew that there was a greater force at work, and it was most likely Patrick. All fingers pointed to his uncle, the only demon who would conspire against him. Still, Alfred, forever a child, need not worry about that. All of their problems would be solved eventually if not soon.

"That's good!" Alfred nodded his head eagerly in approval of Arthur's reply. "Romano doesn't look too happy though. I wonder why. If the bad guys are beaten, shouldn't everyone be happy like in the movies? How come Romano's not happy?"

"It's because the bad guys pulled a dirty little trick over our heads," Arthur responded tentatively as he navigated expertly to the room in which Romano and Carriedo were staying. "They've stole his brother's soul, and I can't imagine why they've done so."

If Romulus Vargas' soul was a white flame flickering with blue and if Romano's soul was purely blue—the rarest flame of them all—then one could only imagine what kind of soul Feliciano Vargas himself possessed. Arthur couldn't place his finger on the motive, however, as he doubted that Valentino would have simply wanted to reap the soul of the younger Vargas brother. Maybe it would have made Feliciano Vargas a more complacent hostage since he would simply be comatose, but other than that, he couldn't understand why Valentino would go through the trouble. There was nothing, really, to gain or from which he could benefit. Even with Patrick's borrowed powers, it would have been immensely difficult for a human—even if he was barely so with his makeshift warlock status—to reap another person's soul.

Patrick, on the other hand, might have more reason to do so. Reaping souls not only happened to be a demon's favourite past-time, it was also a means to live. A demon needed sustenance every blue moon, and usually they went hunting for a soul depending on preference. There were those who preferred devouring the purest of souls, a rare delicacy of blue and/or white, for a sweet and juicy sensation, and those who preferred the sinners, a dirty mixture of red and brown, for a spicier, sour, or bitter taste. Most demons, however, dined on typical souls seen in common folk—some souls more savoury than others, some more bland—the shades of flames between red and yellow such as red-orange and orange-yellow. Additionally, for Patrick, there could have been an underlying motive: impeding Arthur's contract with Romulus Vargas, leading to an encounter that might—though not bloody likely, Arthur remarked to himself—end in a life or death situation for and between the two royals.

"What did they do, Artie?" Alfred asked quietly, lowering his voice so that nobody would overhear them. His tiny hands clutched the fabric of Arthur's sweater with concern for his new friend.

"That boy Romano is watching over is his brother," Arthur informed the spirit just as softly, "so he's the one whose soul was stolen."

Alfred's eyes widened, and his bottom lip quivered. "That's mean!" he cried. "I wouldn't want anyone to take you away from me!" Arthur didn't bother telling the lad that he didn't even have a soul for anyone to take, but he did appreciate the sentiment. "That's not very nice at all! Why did they have to do that to him?!"

"I don't know, lad," Arthur admitted as he dropped Alfred onto his feet the moment they've reached Romano and Carriedo's door. "I'm going to get to the bottom of this, so go play with your brothers and sister, all right?"

"Okay, Artie," Alfred answered obediently, giving the older daemon one last glance, before running to their playroom.

In the meanwhile, Arthur rapped lightly on the door with his knuckles. A moment of silence crept past as he waited patiently for the door to open. The doorknob twisted slowly and gradually the door widened some—only a smidgen, but still. Romano peered curiously into the hallway and rested his hazel eyes upon Arthur's form. "_Cosa vuoi?_" he asked in a cracked, broken voice. His confidence and faith may have been entirely shattered. Arthur doubted that Romano had even realised he had spoken in Italian, and if he had, then he certainly didn't care—neither of them did.

"I wanted to see how you were holding up," Arthur responded casually in Italian, surprising the latter even though it really shouldn't. After recovering from the shock, Romano scoffed and rolled his eyes before pulling the door wider, allowing Arthur access into the room. The Briton obliged, stepping into the bedroom, and laid his eyes on the unconscious forms of Antonio Carriedo and Feliciano Vargas, who rested on Romano's bed. Continuing in Italian, maybe simply to comfort or ease the distraught boy, he asked, "How did you rest last night?"

"Didn't sleep," Romano replied curtly in his native language, collapsing onto the chair beside his bed. He dropped his head into his hands. "How could this have happened? Were we too slow? We took at least three or four days to respond to their threats..."

"They could have done so the moment you've escaped," Arthur remarked pointedly. "You shouldn't dwell on what could have happened. You should just accept it."

"Accept it?!" Romano repeated furiously, whipping his head upwards to glare indignantly and infuriatingly at Arthur. "Accept it, and then what?! Move on?"

"Precisely," Arthur agreed calmly. "Move onto the future and plan our next course—one that can fix what happened. I've told you last night; I'll get back your brother's soul. I can't let anything happen to you, your brother, or Carriedo."

"Because it's in your contract," Romano spat bitterly. "What if there was no contract? Would you still have helped us?"

Arthur returned his cynicism with a wry and weary smile. "Well," he answered, this time in English, his voice assuming an almost playful, teasing quality, "I have no reason to refuse." The Briton turned his attention to the resting Spaniard and asked, continuing in English upon seeing that Romano had regained his spirits, "Has he regained consciousness yet?"

"Not at all," Romano responded brusquely in Arthur's language, having grown accustomed to its use over the past few days. "The bastard's been out like a light."

Arthur chortled lowly. "That only means that he'll switch on at one point or another—though his light isn't particularly bright... Carriedo has always been more on the dim side for as long as I've known him," the daemon remarked. His comment earned himself a subtle, half smile from Romano, and Arthur couldn't help but admire that expression. It was quite pleasant, he decided, and it would have been even more lovely to have been a full smile. Romano was, for a human, a beautiful creature.

"He's not the smartest bastard," Romano acquiesced, "but he's always been helpful. The bastard hated seeing people upset—especially when I was a child."

"Oh? Are you not a child now?" Arthur retorted playfully.

"You snarly bastard! I'm nineteen!"

"Yes, yes, age is but a number, I understand."

"Sarcastic bastard."

"Sensitive git."

The two of them cracked a smile.

"I suppose," Arthur directed the flow of the conversation into something more serious and grave, "you would want to know more about what I've told Valentino from last night and about your brother's state... I'll only tell you if you want me to do so, of course, since you're already in a perilous situation. I won't throw you into the deeper end without your consent."

Romano scoffed, remarking, "You're going to wipe out my memories at the end of this shit anyway, right? You might as well tell me all that I need to know now so I can brace myself for whatever the hell is coming."

Arthur rolled his eyes before taking a seat right next to Feliciano's resting body. His green eyes trailed over his newest guest, subconsciously comparing him to his older brother. The skin was paler, no doubt, and he had less of an Arabic appearance. His hair was a brighter shade than Romano's—taking on a red, coppery tinge—and his body more slender, almost feminine. He noticed the unappreciative and disapproving glances Romano kept throwing his way, so Arthur ceased his observations.

"Stop checking out my little brother, you nasty bastard."

"He's only—what?—sixteen years old. It's practically criminal. I would never do that," Arthur snapped indignantly. "I was just thinking that he looks like Romulus Vargas."

"Yeah, everyone says that."

"So do you," Arthur mentioned offhandedly. Before Romano could touch face on that comment, the Briton had already proposed his question tersely, "At any rate, how am I supposed to know what you want to know? I can't say there's really anything you _need _to know, so just fire away with your questions."

Romano scowled before obliging, "Fine. What were those wings from last night?" The feathered wings, he recalled, like that of an angel's... But Arthur was a demon.

Catching onto Romano's train of thoughts, Arthur smiled bitterly and mused, "Ah, they say my mother was an angel, but my father was the King of the Underworld—one of the oldest, if not the oldest, demons around. At any rate, among my brothers, I am the strongest, having been descended from first generation fallen angels—making them my half-brothers, I suppose, since my father sired them with different succubi—be it a consort, as in Alistair and Owain's case, or mistresses and concubines, as with Seamus and Peter. In a sense, I don't know what the bloody hell I really am; it's why I don't like talking about it. For a demon, I have the white feathered wings seen in angels instead of the ones tarnished with black, soiled with darkness. For an angel, I've taken upon myself the title of King of the Underworld instead of a soldier of the Heavens. Anyway, you do know what demons are, correct? I would assume that either Mathias or Gilbert had told you already since you've learnt of my title."

Romano nodded shortly and clarified, "Mathias told me that demons are—or were, maybe—fallen angels and that they're rare now. Every daemon of the Underworld is a descendant of fallen angels, and demons are daemons that form contracts and feed on souls."

"That's quite condensed," Arthur mused, "but pretty simple. All of that is true, yes. To start from the beginning, there are essentially two types of daemons: one who is born and one who is created. The former means exactly what I've said; the parents, or one of the parents, are daemons. Usually, this applies only to familiars, incubi and succubi, and demons and angels. The ones who are created are revenants, werewolves, and vampires. They've died a human life and are brought into a cursed existence where reproduction is impossible due to the fact that they are essentially dead corpses—only reanimated. The only differences between the three of them are that werewolves are given a new body—one of hellhounds—so they have an extraordinary healing rate, that vampires thrive off blood so their cells are replenished and appear no different from living cells, and that revenants are... well, the walking dead. Anyway, the reproductive cycle of the borne daemons are quite similar to the human reproductive cycle. I needn't explain that, do I?"

He chuckled at Romano's reddened cheeks before continuing, "The daemon species then began to evolve into separate races although the means of procreation for the borne have remained relatively the same—especially when compared to humans. It also makes possible for a union between a human and a daemon, which results in a being called a cambion—a half-blood existence. Do you remember how I've told you that Angelique is the illegitimate child of one of my... acquaintances? You might have figured it out from the night you've met him, but I'll tell you anyway: she is Francis' child with a human woman. He says that he's named her after me, the Britannia Angel as dubbed by my subjects, but, still, let's keep that between us, the Frog, and Gilbert. We are the only ones who know of her parentage. Because of her paternal inheritance, nevertheless, she is probably the most gifted of my guardian spirits. Francis is, after all, the Patron of the Incubi and Succubi.

"At any rate, in terms of the Heavens, a cambion would probably be called a demigod, I suppose, like in Greek mythology—Hercules, for example. That's why it is also possible for a demon and an angel to have a union, but by doing so or having any kind of sexual or romantic attraction at all, the angel falls from the Heavens. My father is the Devil, the original fallen angel, and my mother is one he had seduced from the Heavens. I am my father's son, spawn of the Devil, but with my mother's blood, blood of a soldier of the Heavens, I have received these white wings."

"That would explain why Valentino said you've never descended from Heaven," Romano deduced.

"And instead rose from Hell though, technically, the terminology is incorrect," Arthur confirmed. "It would be 'descended from the _Heavens_ and rose from the _Underworld_.' Gilbert and Mathias have already explained to you the difference?"

Romano nodded again. "Only between the Underworld and Hell. What's with the Heavens and Heaven? It sounds the same to me."

"The Heavens, to some, might be Mount Olympus or the sky in general," Arthur explained shortly. "It's the counterpart of the Underworld, otherwise called the Dark Realm, in which it is the Celestial Realm. On the other hand, Heaven is actually the paradise where good little boys and girls go—like Eden or Nirvana or whatever, wherever. I wouldn't know. It's the counterpart of Hell, naturally, where—as you can guess—is where the bad little boys and girls who make Santa's naughty list and don't listen to their mummies and daddies go."

Romano blatantly ignored Arthur's last comment before he paused, thinking, and then asked, "Who is the Duke of Pride? You said he was your uncle? What role does he play in all of this shit?"

Arthur sighed heavily, the breath dragging itself past his lips, slumping his shoulders, and replied, "My uncle, Patrick Brian O'Connor, is the Duke of Pride who willingly married into the family as part of his own agenda. He is now Patrick Brian Kirkland and thus shares the title as one of the Seven Princes with my aunt, Bridget Kirkland, the Duchess of Vanity." Upon seeing the bewildered expression in Romano's hazel eyes, the Briton brought himself to elaborate, "There are Seven Princes of the Underworld, all given titles named after the seven deadly sins. First and foremost is the Duke and Duchess of Pride and Vanity. Afterwards, there is the Prince of Wrath, who happens to be my oldest brother, Alistair, and the Prince of Sloth is the second oldest, Owain. I'm the third oldest and king, but my younger brother, Seamus, is the Prince of Envy. My youngest brother, Peter, is the Prince of Greed. My cousins, Jett and James, are the Princes of Gluttony and Lust respectively. My uncle is aiming for my throne, so I fear he may be plotting everything that has happened to you. He's been like this for centuries. I suspect he might have been the one to reap your brother's soul, but I have no proof at this moment. I apologise for the inefficiencies."

Romano shook his head and mentioned, "I don't get all of this, but you sure as hell don't need to apologise. It's not like you did this on purpose... is it?"

Arthur laughed brusquely and remarked, "Not at all! I wouldn't stoop so low to intervene in the fates of humans whenever I'm bored."

"So why is he after your throne?"

Arthur ran a hand through his hair sheepishly. "Why wouldn't he be?" the blond mused. "I'm still young—in comparison to the older daemons who've been around for certainly more than one millennia—and because of my mother's blood, there may be radicals who believe I have no place in the Underworld like the cambions. Like I said, I don't even know if I can consider myself to be a demon, but I'm definitely no angel... I can't be..."

"You are... exceptionally nice and polite to be a demon—even if you are a snarly, sarcastic bastard," Romano commented dryly. "You don't look like one either."

"I don't know if I should thank you for that," Arthur replied light-heartedly, "but you wouldn't say the same once you've seen my record of kills from my life before and during my reign as King of the Underworld. I was a king before then as well, and I've led my knights into battle and participated in the terrors of war. I'm no kindly person."

"I think you are," Romano whispered. "You told Valentino that you would save his soul."

"...a formality," Arthur muttered.

"Is it really?" Romano persisted.

"It is really," Arthur insisted.

"I don't believe you."

"Then believe what you'd like." Arthur stood up then and glided to the door. Without turning to face Romano, he informed of the Italian boy, "We'll be travelling to Sicily—Gilbert, Mathias, and I—to handle the house there. Afterwards, we'll teleport to Northern Italy—Venice and Florence—and then to Spain, France, and then to Germany to handle the situations there. I expect to return to England by the end of the month. Then we'll venture to the Americas and to Asia and, within two more months, finish the second objective. At the same time, I'll investigate the matter involving your brother's soul. Please, join us for lunch, Romano, and if you won't, then I'll have Kiku send up lunch for you. Is that all right?"

"_Sì_," he answered hesitantly, "it's... it's fine." Before Arthur could leave, however, Romano blurted out, "W-Wait!"

Arthur's heart skipped a beat from the surprise. "Y-Yes?" he stammered, ignoring how his heart pounded excitably in his chest.

"L-Last night, y-you called me b-be-beau-beaut... N-Never mind, forget it," Romano grumbled.

"A-Are you sure?"

"Y-Ye-Yes—err—Yeah, sure..."

After hearing Romano's wavering response, the Briton's fingers ghosted over the cool surface of the doorknob, uncertain if he should grasp it or not. A part of him nagged at him to speak longer with the Italian boy—though for what reason he was unsure. He pressed his lips together, pursing them, before anxiously biting on his lower lip. Although it was not clear why he felt, all of a sudden, nervous to be around the boy, he chided himself for such irrational behaviour. Before he was even aware of his own actions, the Briton asked of Romano rather impulsively, "Would you care to go for a walk around Rome?"

"...huh?"

"Ah, n-never mind," the blond muttered, waving the question aside dismissively. Hurriedly, he grasped the doorknob and yanked the door open. Arthur didn't waste a second leaving the room then in an attempt to get his heart back under control.

"W-Wait!" Romano blurted in surprise, his outcry halting Arthur in his frenetic paces. The Italian snatched Arthur's wrist and, when the Briton's body tensed slightly, dropped his flustered gaze to the floor. "Why... Why did you ask?"

Heat surged to Arthur's cheeks as he dithered for an answer—a good, decent one at least. "Well..." Arthur faltered, hesitant in his reply. "I thought that you would need some fresh air. You... You stayed by your brother's side all night and didn't get any rest. I thought—I _think_—that you could use a break since, in your current state, you might not be getting any sleep sometime soon. We could at least go for lunch if you don't want to walk around town, but... I promise you'll be safe with me. I'm all rested—f-for the most part, anyway."

Lovino raised his head then and stared at the Briton, awestruck, admiring the reddish-pink flush coating his pale cheeks and the sheepish expression in his soft green eyes that darted here and there but not at Lovino himself, avoiding confrontation. His heart throbbed painfully in his chest, yearning to step closer to the older man, but Lovino was instilled with mild fear. Here he was with the Devil, the king of all daemons of the dark, and the Devil had asked him out on a... a date? It seemed surreal, rather, to have the Devil—of all beings—to be concerned about him.

A sweet devil! Lovino almost laughed aloud at the prospect.

"So," Arthur pressed in that tender and tentative voice of his—almost sweet and sensitive to Lovino's ears—as he glanced shyly at the Italian, "will you?" He pulled his adoring emerald gaze away reluctantly, and Lovino had half a mind to force him to turn back and look at him even more. Arthur pursed his lips in another bout of discomfort yet again before mentioning, "I haven't been around Rome in a long time—not since the second World War. You could show me around?"

Subconsciously, Lovino slipped his hand into Arthur's and nodded his head. "Yeah, I can do that," he replied just as tamely.

* * *

"Hey, Mathias," Gilbert droned as he laid upside down on the Victorian sofa, "Arthur and Lovino just left the house without us, right?"

"I believe so," Mathias replied shortly. "They were awfully quiet about it! Like they were trying to keep it a secret!"

"A secret!" Gilbert exclaimed feverishly, eyes wide, as he toppled over the sofa. "Why the hell would they keep a secret from me?! That's not awesome at all!"

"Maybe they went on a date," Mathias suggested half-heartedly with a casual shrug.

"A _date_?!" Gilbert repeated hysterically. "I thought we told Lovino _not_ to do that! He's... He's a human—a _mortal_! Do you _know _how much of an age difference there is between the two of them?! One day, Lovino's going to die a shrivelled old man, and Arthur's still going to be twenty-three years old! He's _immortal_! This really is so not awesome! If Arthur's going to fall in love with Lovino, he's going to end up depressed and shit like how Franny was when—!"

"Gilbert!" Mathias boomed loudly, silencing the entire household. "You need to calm down! It's not like they _chose_ to be in love! This kind of thing just happens!"

The werewolf was quiet for a moment as all sorts of thoughts and possibilities ran amok in his mind. "Divine interference also _just happens_, right?" Gilbert proposed offhandedly with a devious smirk stretching his lips. "Although... daemons like us, the fucking _undead_, aren't quite _divine_, it probably still applies, right? While we're at it, we can replace Art's centuries old furniture with something comfortable and Italian—or maybe something from IKEA."

Just as soon as Gilbert rolled over on the floor to sit upright and bolted to the door, it was thrown open, and the werewolf was soon face-to-face with a pair of subdued aquatic green eyes staring at him with a deadpan. He raked a hand covered with a black glove through his strawberry blond hair as his eyes darted about in search for his brother. "Where is Arthur?" he asked monotonously.

"Y-Your Highness," Gilbert greeted as he recoiled from the shock. He immediately bowed—though despised himself for doing so as it was only an alpha's pride being crushed—and responded, "He had just left."

"I guess we were too late, Owain," chirped a short and stout young man with deep auburn hair. His luscious green eyes peered past the werewolf blocking the entrance before barging into the home uninvited.

Bouncing after him was a child no more than twelve years old with vivid blond hair and eyes a mixture of blue and green. "Wait for me, Seamus!" he exclaimed. "I want to look for that jerk Arthur, too!"

One, two, three... Gilbert counted mentally before his heart plummeted into his stomach, burning and dissolving in acid, as fear overwhelmed him. Where was the fourth one?

"_Maaattthiiiaaasss!_" he exclaimed, running back to the living room in search of his Viking friend. However, the revenant had already vanished. "You traitor!" Gilbert hissed under his breath. Shit, Gilbert cursed his luck, he was stuck in the same room as three of the Seven Princes of the Underworld. His life was on the line here! Who knew what would happen if he managed to piss them off? The Kirkland brothers were always so whimsical—_most_ times, at the least!

At that moment, Kiku strolled out of the kitchen, bowed politely to his master's relatives, and announced that he would prepare the tea. The fox spirit inclined his gaze to the panicking albino and told the werewolf to entertain the guests. A gleeful shrill upstairs alerted the werewolf that Peter had found the five guardian spirits and was already entertained.

Well, that's one less, Gilbert mused half-heartedly as he grinned weakly at the remaining two princes. "So, Your Highnesses, where is His Highness Prince Alistair?" he inquired cautiously.

"He went off on his own again," Seamus answered shortly. "He said he was going to hunt a little white bird who's been straying a little too far from the nest—if you know what I mean."

Dread pooled in Gilbert's stomach. Oh, yes, he knew what Seamus meant very well and only hoped that Mathias had left in search of Arthur. If they were lucky, then the Viking would be able to warn the King of the Underworld in time before his oldest brother snatched hold of him.

* * *

"So this is a Catholic cathedral," Arthur mused as he peered into the distance. Despite having asked Romano to escort him around Rome, the King of the Underworld couldn't gather enough nerves to approach any sacred grounds within a five kilometre radius. Instead, he chose to admire them from afar though his admiration appeared to be more amusement than awe. "It's quite grandiose, isn't it? They've probably spent more time building the bloody church than worshipping their God."

Romano eyed him wearily and remarked, "You have something against Catholics, bastard?"

"Catholics, Protestants, and anything to do with the Emperor of the Heavens, or—as they like to call him—God," Arthur answered shortly with a wry smile. He shoved his hands into his pockets as the two of them strolled along. "It comes with the job, you know? Not to mention, if I get any closer, there's a good possibility that I'll be struck with lightning upon sight—that, or spontaneous combustion will occur. I'm not risking either." When Romano rolled his eyes and snorted, the wry smile on Arthur's lips melted into sincerity and tenderness—not that the Italian boy even noticed. It was good that Romano was distracted by his home town, Arthur decided, since he was feeling somewhat sappy at the moment. "Do—or did, I suppose—you come here often? I heard Romulus Vargas was fairly religious."

Romano scoffed quietly at Arthur's last comment before remarking dryly, "That's putting it lightly. We went to Mass every Sunday and attended the evening service at church as often as possible on Wednesdays, and, yeah, it was this church. I don't know if you've noticed, bastard, but Italy's still pretty religious as a whole—generally speaking, dammit."

"Of course," Arthur agreed, "after all, the Vatican isn't that far away from here—if I remember correctly, that is. I should, seeing that one of my pentacles is located in the Vatican."

"How did you get there without being struck by lightning, or were you joking around, bastard?"

"Oh, no, I'm very much serious when it comes to matters pertaining to the Heavens! The Emperor happens to be much more powerful than I am, but I suppose it is because he is the Creator and Maker of this entire world. Me? I'm just a king," Arthur defended himself with a smile. "At any rate, even though I say it's _in_ the Vatican, it's more on the outskirts of the Vatican. I can't step too far into the Vatican without feeling like I'm going to melt or that the ground would collapse under my feet and drop me back into the Underworld. I'm not certain if I'm allowed in His house."

Romano glanced at Arthur the moment the blond finished speaking as though to confirm that the Briton hadn't disappeared in the fashion that he had mentioned earlier. Averting his eyes, Romano commented, "You... You don't really look like the Devil—especially with how you're dressed." Arthur arched an eyebrow, asking the Italian to clarify, despite the fact that Romano was somewhat unnerved and discomfited himself. When the brunet was aware that he was being pressed to elaborate, he explained himself, "You're dressed like an old man for someone who only looks twenty-three years old—o-or like a... a nerd, I guess... With your jumpers and all."

Arthur snorted at Romano's account, hiding his smirk behind his right hand, as he indulged himself in that crimson flush coating the Italian's cheeks. It nearly matched the very hue and intensity of his royal coat with how dark and deep it was becoming, and that especially drew great amusement from the King of the Underworld.

"I didn't always dress like this though," Arthur retorted coolly and suavely, feigning nonchalance to Romano's remarks. His response only elicited more curiosity from the brunet, however.

"Really?"

"Yes, I've dressed in punk as far back as the sixties until the mid-nineties, for example," Arthur clarified.

"No way," Romano responded immediately with pure and utter disbelief. "You're too anal retentive to be a punk-ass delinquent."

Arthur chortled lowly. "Well, living almost two millennia will do that to you. I just had more fun in the seventies; LSD and other drugs were rampant—especially in San Francisco," the Briton explained shortly with a shrug. "It didn't do a single thing to me though; I'm practically immune to all earthly or synthetic, man-made substances. It just gave me an excuse to lower my inhibitions, I suppose. I felt... more free then. There are periods of times when I did feel free in spite of my title and status—the Golden Age of Piracy, for instance."

"Are you... Are you still bored?" Romano inquired tentatively.

Arthur spared his guest a warm smile that faded as quickly as it had appeared. "Not so much now that I'm with you," he answered honestly and blatantly. His words fuelled the heat burning on Romano's cheeks, and Arthur swelled with pride and glory at the sight—wanting nothing more to embrace the Italian and ravish that radiating warmth. "You're an interesting lad, Romano. Sometimes I can't tell if you're a coward or brave or simply an idiot." Before Romano could take any offence to Arthur's remarks, the Briton swiftly mentioned, "Still, your essence is—" beautiful and gorgeous and lovely and divine "—quite... _unique_, or maybe it's just you in general." After all, the blond mused, his body is a beautiful host for a beautiful soul with a beautiful heart. "Nevertheless, I'm glad to have met you even though it's under these circumstances."

"D-Dammit, you b-b-bastard!" Romano squeaked with a flushed face—flustered and bothered—after having heard such honest words, though not honest enough but a rarity nonetheless from the Briton, who had momentarily lowered his guards and defences. "W-What the hell do you think you're saying?!"

"I honestly don't know, but, ah, I figured trying to be honest with you is the proper thing to do in this situation," Arthur confessed. Romano was in a rut right now; the daemon knew at least that much. His family had betrayed him, and he was now a refugee in Arthur's home—living with strangers possessing otherworldly powers and abilities. He had finally retrieved his brother but only the body; the soul was lost elsewhere. They currently had no leads on where to find Feliciano's soul, and the family that had betrayed him was to be eradicated entirely within three months. "So what have you been doing in the past four days?"

"You mean while you were out cold?" Romano remarked dryly. "I've been playing with the kids, like house, hide and seek, board games, teatime, and shit. I've shown them around Rome a few times, and we've cooked dinner together, too."

"You make quite the older brother," Arthur complimented with a gentle smile. "I wish mine were a tad bit more like you—although that would be a little strange, I have to admit." Romano's cheeks flushed with embarrassment though the Briton took no notice of this. His eyes were currently focused on a little café. He nodded his head towards the local establishment and asked his companion, "Do you want something to eat?" Romano simply shrugged his shoulders and allowed Arthur to lead him there. They both occupied a small round table for two. While Romano ordered a light meal, Arthur had declined, seeing that he really didn't need physical nourishment, but upon noticing that they didn't serve tea, Arthur simply asked to double Romano's drink order—something with the word "latte" in it was all the blond had managed to grasp. When the waiter left to deliver their orders to the kitchen, the Briton resumed conversation, "They're quite attached to you now—the children. You cook with them? I've hardly the time to spare for that in the past; I'm glad they got to experience that then."

"You cook?" was Romano's inquiry.

The corners of Arthur's lips curved into a subtle smile. "I dither in culinary arts, yes," he responded confidently. "It reminds me of brewing a spell—only lacking the cauldron."

Romano snorted with laughter, and Arthur could only smile. Before a silence could creep between them, the waiter returned with Romano's sandwich and their lattes. Arthur politely thanked the waiter and took a curious sip of his latte. "Bloody hell," he muttered under his breath—eyes wide and glimmering—as he took another sip, "what _is_ this? I've never been one for coffee, so I wouldn't know. This is rather brilliant—though not quite as relaxing as a cup of Earl Grey in my book."

Romano laughed at his reaction and at his expression before answering, "It's _caffé latte_, bastard—made with espresso and steamed milk. I'm surprised they have this on the menu. Most of the time, _caffè latte _is served at home for breakfast, but this place kind of has a homely atmosphere to it—maybe it's not that surprising."

"Espresso, huh?" Arthur mused before he took another sip. "I wonder if you can replace espresso with a shot of tea instead—like chai, masala chai—or mix them together."

Romano frowned at the thought and remarked, "It wouldn't be a _caffè latte_ if you did that, dammit."

"Right, right," the Briton agreed. "It'd be more like a masala chai latte—chai latte? Something like that." Arthur glanced at Romano's sandwich just as he took a bite. "How's lunch?"

"It's fine—not bad—could be better," Romano answered shortly. Arthur rolled his eyes at the response—although it was mostly because he was humoured—and the Italian felt a need to defend himself, "Look, I'm a gourmet, dammit. Got it, you bastard?"

"Yes, yes, of course."

A thought crossed the boy's mind then, and he immediately turned to face Arthur in order to ask, "You said that daemons didn't need to eat, right? Does that apply to the children?"

"They're not technically daemons," Arthur responded slowly, gathering his thoughts together to formulate the best possible way to explain this. "They're not ghosts either. They're just... guardian spirits. It's like they're souls without bodies. Technically, they shouldn't be able to feel hungry; I don't know if they really do. It's possible—or most likely—that breakfast, lunch, teatime, and dinner were simply a part of their human lives of which they couldn't rid themselves—like a sort of circadian rhythm that hadn't diminished over the years. Haven't you noticed that they eat at certain, specific or particular times? Every morning around eight, every afternoon around one, sometimes a snack around four, and dinner around half seven. Alfred also complains about hunger at the same time as well—three o'clock—but I wonder if he really does feel hunger. He whines in the same fashion all of the time. It wouldn't surprise me if he couldn't remember what actual hunger feels likes."

"That's... That's true," Romano mumbled, his eyes distant as he realised the proof underlying Arthur's words. "That's... kind of sad. They don't really need food, do they?"

"No," Arthur responded shortly with a bitter smile. "Not at all. If we think about souls as a part of an electromagnetic spectrum or like an electric current, as some modern scientists would suggest, then really all they need to be be near the source of their power to be rejuvenated."

"That's you, isn't it?"

"Correct," Arthur confirmed. "They need to be either near me or at the centre of one of my pentacles." He sighed and gave a weary smile. "Shall we talk about a lighter topic?"

"Like what, bastard? How's the weather?"

"Marvellous, thanks for asking."

Right after Romano finished his meal in between jests and laughter, the two of them paid for their meal—well, Arthur did—tipped the waiter—again, Arthur did—and resumed their stroll throughout town. In the middle of another one of their conversations, however, a wave of heat crossed over the land, trickling over Arthur's skin and washing over his body, before he felt a spark of electricity attack his nerves. Someone was issuing him a warning, but that was hardly necessary. He could sense this essence over a thousand miles, and he knew fully well who it was.

"Romano, get down!" Arthur exclaimed as he reached for the boy accompanying him on his stroll. The Briton covered Romano's smaller body with his own, pushing him and pinning him onto the ground, as a blaze of scarlet scalded the area where they had previously stood. Arthur glanced around them and found a shimmer of light behind them being reflected by the sun. "A barrier?" he whispered to himself. Its purpose was to separate them from the rest of the Surface World, Arthur realised, so it meant that he was being challenged to a duel.

"Ye missed, Amon," remarked a low, deep voice marked with a heavy Scottish accent. Arthur raised his head, narrowing his emerald eyes at the acidic green of his oldest brother. The latter had his arm outstretched for an elegant phoenix with varying shades of vermilion and scarlet feathers tipped lightly with a pristine red flame. His crimson haired brother returned Arthur's glare with an expression of amusement. "Awright thare, Artie?"

"I've never been better," Arthur replied sardonically, refusing to move an inch away from Romano's body, intent on shielding him from Alistair's and Amon's flames. "What the bloody hell are you doing here?"

"We came to pay our wee brother a visit," Alistair mused as the phoenix familiar nesting on his arm dissipated into red flames, vanquishing into thin air. "Is that not allowed? We weren't banished from visiting the Surface World." Upon seeing the puzzlement crossing Arthur's livid expression, the redhead brought himself to explain, "Owain, Seamus, Peter, and I came to see ye. The others are probably at your estate right now. We figured ye would be in London, but suddenly the Scribe obtained records of high magic activity in the vicinities of Rome. It can't be much of a coincidence that ye are here as well."

"What are you implying, Alistair?" Arthur demanded coldly as his emerald eyes hardened into stone. "Hurry up and get to the point."

"Aye," replied the redhead, rolling his eyes at Arthur's impatience (though he himself had no place to gripe), as he crossed his arms in front of his chest. "What I'm trying to say is this: ye went off and did something stupid, haven't ye? Owain, Seamus, and I already went to examine the site where magic traces remain. The corpses have already been cremated, and the souls have already been dragged to Hell. It's still bloody obvious what happened there. An entire Mafia family had been exterminated through supernatural means—attack by hellhounds, superhuman strength of revenants, unnatural elemental damage by either a mage or a warlock—and, Artie, your last contract involved a Mafioso. These aren't coincidences."

"I'm bound to the words of my contract with Romulus Vargas," Arthur retorted calmly. He was oblivious to the fact that Lovino was staring up at him, wide-eyed with astonishment and quaking with fear, though silently admiring his strength, power, and determination. Gradually, Arthur pushed himself from the ground, no longer covering Romano but instead standing in front of the boy who began to sit upright as well. "As he wishes, I will erase _La Famiglia Divina_ from existence through any means possible."

"Ye have an army," Alistair pointed out. "Ye have an entire horde of daemons at your beck and call, but ye went off and sneaked behind our backs."

"The military is under your command, _General_," Arthur remarked dryly, his tone vehement and bitter. "Because you are my brother, my _older_ brother, I doubt you would have listened to me even though _I am your king_."

"Aye, and I admit that our father's lost his mind when he chose ye," Alistair responded just as wryly, "but I like Uncle Patrick no better than ye—no better than ye do as well."

A silence crept between the two brothers.

"You understand what he's been planning?" Arthur queried of his brother.

Alistair huffed indignantly. "How can I not?" he snapped. "I have control of the military branches, as ye have said, and I hear every word that passes through town through the intelligence department. He's been planning for this day for centuries, Artie."

"And what of you?" Arthur asked quietly, sceptically, as he eyed his brother with patent suspicion.

"I might not always be better than Uncle Patrick at times, but I am definitely no worse than he," Alistair responded civilly. "I'd rather bow my head to the angels in the Heavens than see him in charge. The manipulative little bastard somehow conned Aunt Bridget into marrying him, but he won't fool me. I trust our father's word more than I trust his rule." He smirked—somewhat derisively, somewhat amusedly—and remarked, "How does the saying go? 'He that finds discontentment in one place is not likely to find happiness in another'? I guess I'm stuck with ye, Artie."

Arthur cracked a smile. "Sod off, Alistair, you tosser."

Alistair roared with laughter before raising his hand and shouting, "Think fast, Artie!" Instantaneously, a ball of obsidian flames gathered in the palm of his hand before rapidly hurling in Arthur's direction. The blond swiftly stretched out his arm and deflected the flames with his own, dissolving the black flames with crystal blue beams wrapping around his hand like a river current. The older demon grinned deviously at his brother's aggravated expression before drawing a claymore seemingly from thin air. It slowly revealed itself from the black cross hilt to the silvery blade, elongating well past a hundred centimetres excluding the hilt itself, before pointing the claymore at Arthur.

"What are you doing?" Arthur asked wearily.

"I didn't say that I would help ye now, did I?" Alistair retorted coolly. "I came to fetch ye at the Scribe's request, and I'm taking ye back whether ye like it or not. If ye do not want to come with me, then I suggest ye draw your sword. I don't mean any sword either; I mean Excalibur."

"You're a fool to challenge me to a sword fight," the Englishman muttered under his breath. Nevertheless, he humoured his brother and, in the same fashion that Alistair had performed, pulled his sword from the sky. Like the first time, the cutlass glowed with a blinding silvery-blue light that engraved the same letters onto the blade, and, again, Arthur swung the sword in a downward motion to slice the air, creating a sharp ripple. He assumed a defensive position just as Alistair began to grip his claymore properly with two hands. In an instant, Alistair charged towards Arthur, who managed to block the attack to his face in the nick of time.

Lovino watched, awestruck, as metal clashed against metal, the sound ringing in his ears in the fashion of a piercing knell, as the two brothers exchanged blows faster than the speed of light. The Italian could barely catch their forms as they danced in a macabre fashion, rhythmically clanging the blades of their swords time and time again. Neither one of them could land a blow on the other, and it was clear that the two of them were exerting themselves entirely. Worry began to pool within Lovino's stomach as he prayed for Arthur's safety. It might have been a ridiculous notion, praying for the Devil, but Lovino desired his safety over anything else in that very moment. He wanted Arthur by his side—not anywhere else. Arthur was a man who kept his word, and if he declared and stated firmly that he would protect Lovino, the brunet would believe him. He was more honest than any other person Lovino has ever encountered—aside from his idiot brother and cousin.

The Italian recoiled as he spotted a ball of obsidian flames hurling at him after having missed its target. Instinctively, his lips parted to scream, yet his voice wouldn't come out. His hazel eyes widened to the size of the moon as trepidation chained his feet to the ground; he was unable to move his body. Squeezing his eyes shut, he waited for the hell-fire to reach him, but it never came.

"Bloody hell!" Arthur hissed, dropping in front of Lovino with the back of his jumper charred entirely. Trickles of blue flames had barely managed to horde off the attack, now surrounding Arthur and Lovino from any other potential surprise attacks. The cutlass he had been gripping fell to the ground with a clatter, dissolving into particles of light, as he threw his arms around Lovino. "Are you all right?" the Englishman whispered desperately to the boy, tightening his embrace and burying Lovino's face into his chest. Pressed against his breast, Lovino could hear Arthur's rapidly pounding heart, strung with adrenaline and panic and excitement and eager and—perhaps—nervousness. "Oh, Romano, I'm so sorry... I didn't think he would attack you. I'm so sorry, luv; you must have been given quite a fright." Before the Italian had a chance to utter a single syllable, Arthur whipped his head violently to his older brother, glaring vehemently with emeralds sharper than his blade, the pupils narrowing into vertical slits. "Alistair!" he hissed.

"I couldn't help it," Alistair said sheepishly, not giving Arthur a chance to continue onto a relentless tirade. "I just had to test you—somehow, some way. It seems you haven't lost your touch though you still are not at Father's level."

"I'll get there—someday," Arthur vowed silently.

"I don't know if I'm looking forward to it," Alistair responded half-heartedly, raking a hand through his crimson locks, before recalling his purpose. "There's a Council meeting," he mentioned offhandedly to his younger brother. Before Arthur could formulate a witty, sarcastic response, Alistair quickly followed with another statement, "You're required to attend as King of the Underworld. Be at the palace within four hours, but until then, you can enjoy your date with your Italian boy-toy, yeah?"

Arthur flushed indignantly, bristled and affronted, at Alistair's choice in words. "He's no toy!" the younger Kirkland barked heatedly, oblivious to the fact that the brunet standing behind him was flushed for another reason entirely.

Arthur, after all, did not deny that this was a date.

* * *

**A/N:** Well, this was a little off-schedule, but at least it's up! _Finally_, Arthur's brothers made their début! It's the beginning of a new arc!

Also, Lovino is referred to as "Romano" for some parts of this chapter because it was in Arthur's perspective. At the moment, he views Lovino as a soul, not quite a person. You'll see what I'm talking about as the story progresses. In a purely third person chapter, not limited to only one character and entirely omniscient, the characters will be addressed by their names (no nicknames, no insults, nothing but names and actual titles). I have a weird writing style.

The rest of this author's note is just to simplify chapter content about terminology.

Souls  
The souls, as mentioned back in the first (two?) chapters, are flames with colours based in four general categories - blue, white, yellow, and red. This is the same as the colour of the stars such as the sun, blue being the hottest and red being the coolest. In the context of souls, blue is the purest soul and red is not so pure. Red isn't the dirtiest soul though. As illustrated in the previous chapter, Valentino's soul was almost brown in colour, and - oh? What's this? - Alistair was seen using _black flames_. I wonder what that's all about. So basically, the hierarchy goes like this:  
1. Blue - Purest, Rarest  
2. White - Pure, Rare  
3. Yellow - Good, Common  
4. Red - Not So Good, Common  
5. Apparently, you can get worse than the general worst, like Valentino's maroon/brown soul

Borne and Created Daemons  
There is one basic difference between these two that Arthur explained: to be a daemon, you are either born that way or you are made (cursed/blessed) into one. Daemons such as incubi/succubi, familiars, demons, and angels can therefore mate with each other or with humans. Daemons such as vampires, werewolves, and revenants must die as a human first before being, in a sense, "reborn" or "resurrected."

Heaven vs Hell  
I think what Arthur said was pretty simple, but I'll clarify just in case. In the Surface World, there is an extension that normal humans can't see. Everything that is supernatural or paranormal belongs to the _Otherside_. This includes the Dark Realm and the Celestial Realm.  
The Dark Realm is made up of two things: the Underworld and Hell. The _Underworld_ is where daemons of the dark (those perceived to be "evil" or "malignant") live while _Hell_ is where souls go to be tortured.  
The Celestial Realm is the counterpart of the Dark Realm; therefore, it is also made of two parts, _the Heavens _- where "benevolent" daemons reside - and _Heaven_ - a paradise for souls.

Alfred's Insatiable Appetite  
Although it sounds humorous at first, it's pretty depressing. Because Arthur's guardian spirits are children who have died and been rescued, they might not have processed that they're actually dead. It's not even clear to Arthur how much they really know despite having lived with them for _centuries._ In their old lives, it would seem that Alfred and Matthew had a planned schedule of eating, and Aflred kept that routine even in the afterlife, dragging his brothers and sister into the same pattern as well. Based on the theory that ghosts and auras are part of the electromagnetic spectrum (or something like that), they don't need physical nourishment such as breakfast and dinner, yet Alfred and the others still eat because it is simply a habit. Arthur didn't have the heart to confront them about that.

**Lastly**, I want to thank everyone who added this story to their favourites or followed this story or took the time to review! I honestly didn't think it would get very much attention when I was posting these chapters, but you've really boosted my confidence and esteem. Thank you very so much, everyone; I really feel honoured! We've just about hit the halfway mark of this story, actually, so I hope I'll see you at the end as well!


	8. Chapter 7

**VII: Don't Kiss (and Tell)**

Lovino had fought tooth and nail to accompany Gilbert, Mathias, and Arthur to the Underworld in spite of the fact that both his cousin and brother were still unconscious. Even though the daemons gathered in the house were entirely adamant that matters of the Otherside did not involve Lovino, the brunet pointedly remarked that he was already too involved to back out of the matters now. If it by chance involved the _famiglia_, then he had every right to know what was going to happen to them. After all, Feliciano and Antonio were the only family he had left, and he would do anything to keep them safe. Even if Lovino wouldn't admit it aloud, they could all see his determination and desperation in his hazel eyes. Unable to overcome Lovino's stubbornness, the daemons had no choice but to let the Italian boy tag along.

The entrance to the Underworld, according to Gilbert, was marked by places of death and decay. The ideal "gates" were cemeteries, graveyards, and former battlefields. Occasionally, there was the isolated, dark alleyway or abandoned telephone booth that might have led daemons to and fro between the realms as well. Currently, they were gathered in a local cemetery where Romulus Vargas was buried, and after paying respects to his grandfather, Lovino followed closely behind Arthur to the Underworld.

"Hold onto me," Arthur told Lovino sternly. "Normal humans cannot pass through to the Underworld for a reason; they cannot see the Gate. By holding onto me or Gilbert or Mathias, our presence might be able to give you temporary Sight. The chances of success are higher if you stick with me though since I have the most magic and influence." Lovino nodded his head once and shyly gripped the sleeve of Arthur's shirt. However, Arthur quickly mumbled an apology and slipped Lovino's hand into his, making the Italian boy flush with embarrassment. "If we connect like this, the energy will flow better," the Briton explained, "and once we arrive, it's best that you don't let go of my hand."

"You do understand that you're willingly throwing yourself into another realm that's filled with daemons of the Dark Realm, right? We're no angels, Lovino," Gilbert remarked dryly off to the side, watching the brunet with a mixture of emotions he didn't bother to conceal. The albino werewolf was amused at his reactions to being in physical contact with Arthur but concerned about his well-being—in more ways than one. It was no secret that Lovino was falling into the _deeper_ end by now, having been in the deep end long enough, and it was quite obvious that he was falling quickly, at that rate and at that point in time, for Arthur as well. Gilbert didn't blame him; if he wasn't an Alpha, Gilbert might have fallen for Arthur at one point or another as well instead of viewing him as competition and as a rival. The man had power, strength, and influence, after all. Additionally, Gilbert made sure to mention, "Remember that familiars are good at holding grudges, vampires can suck your blood dry, succubi can kill you by over-sexing, werewolves can rip you apart with their bare teeth, revenants can crush you in their bare hands, and demons can steal your soul."

"Arthur hasn't stolen his soul yet," Mathias remarked.

"And I haven't eaten him either; neither have you crushed him with your bare hands, Mathias. What's your point?" Gilbert returned lightly. "It doesn't mean that we _can't."_ His giant of a friend rolled his eyes and elbowed Gilbert playfully in the ribs. However, the playful notion was more painful than anything else, and the werewolf spent a good portion of his time nursing his sore ribs with a childish pout settled on his lips. "Anyway," Gilbert redirected his attention to the Italian boy, addressing him severely, "you do know what you're volunteering to do, don't you, Lovino?"

Lovino scowled. "Of course I know, bastard! Do you think I'm an idiot?"

"Yes," Gilbert answered bluntly and brusquely without a moment's hesitation. "You're a human venturing into the Underworld—_willingly_. I think you're more or less of an idiot or just insane, and that's coming from _me_!"

Mathias nodded sagely. "Gilbert has a point; for an Alpha, he does idiotic or insane things all the time," the revenant confirmed. His eyes darkened with concern for his newest friend as he inquired, "Are you really sure, Lovino? You can't turn back once we step past the Gate—not without one of us."

The fear Lovino had been harbouring deep within the recesses of his mind managed to creep out slowly and gradually in the form of a shadow of doubt. Biting his tongue to prevent himself from saying something he might regret, Lovino instead opted to nod his head. He knew that it was dangerous—if not unheard or unimaginable—to voluntarily join the others on a trip to the Underworld. It was no place for humans, and they made sure that Lovino knew and understood that. After all that he has seen—with magic, monsters, and hidden secrets—Lovino couldn't imagine anything becoming any worse, but he knew that he could easily be proven wrong since there was still so much that he didn't know. The Underworld, again, was no place for humans; there would certainly be things beyond Lovino's comprehension. Nevertheless, he didn't want to stay behind and wait. He was tired of doing that. In his past nineteen years, he had always waited for his grandfather and his parents. One day neither of his parents had returned from overseas, and one day his grandfather had fallen asleep—never to wake up. He was tired of waiting. He wanted to help—especially now that his only brother was involved.

Lovino unknowingly tightened his grip on Arthur's hand, oblivious to his actions until it was returned affectionately by the Briton. Raising his gaze, he met with gentle emeralds, encouraging him with a soft light. "I'll protect you," Arthur promised. "Nothing can happen to you if you're with me; that's why you shouldn't ever let go of my hand." The blond turned forward, and Lovino followed the blond's eyes, startling when he spotted an iron gate styled in a dark Gothic fashion. Mathias and Gilbert raised their hands, forcing the gate open with some unknown power, and stepped through it first. Even though Lovino could see the other side of the cemetery beyond the gate, the two undead had disappeared from sight. "Here we go," Arthur whispered to him before stepping forward, and Lovino hastily followed his actions.

The moment he stepped beyond the gate, a powerful force propelled him back like an overwhelming gust of wind. He felt the blades of wind press against his cheeks, grazing his skin, as the force attempted to thrust him away from passing the gate. Lovino knew at that instant that something was trying to keep him from entering; it was unheard—if not forbidden—for a mere human to enter the Underworld, after all. Still, he stubbornly held onto Arthur's hand, tightening his hold, and clung onto the Briton's arm, refusing to let go. He would be damned if he did something, and he would be damned if he didn't do anything. There was no way he could sit idly at home—err, Lovino quickly corrected himself, Arthur's manor—and let a chance to rescue his brother slip through his fingers.

Lovino caught sight of Arthur momentarily engulfed in a flash of light and immediately panicked. However, the flash lasted no longer than half a second, and when it dissipated, Arthur donned another attire. He wore the coat Lovino recognised from the other night—the night of the infiltration of the Vargas estate—the formal coat with the golden epaulettes and embroidery, coloured dark crimson like black blood, with black satin lapels and elegantly engraved buttons, properly fastened in the front—with white trousers tucked into black military boots that laced all the way up to his knees and formal white gloves. A white cravat was fastened around his neck, and a scarlet sash was draped onto his shoulder, crossing his torso, embroidered with a cryptic language with which Lovino was unfamiliar. The Italian also noticed the slight change in the blond's ears; they were now pointed in a sort of elven fashion. Dangling upside down from his left earlobe was a titanium cross while several dark rings lined up his ear. What had overwhelmed Lovino, however, was an entirely different matter. Upon stepping into this new world, Lovino noticed the change in Arthur. His eyes were glowing with a light that appeared almost dangerous with how it flickered with lively and sprightly vivaciousness, vividness, and vibrancy that contrasted the cool, collected expression he bore. Accompanying it was an equally intimidating aura Arthur emancipated, one that he had restrained and hid from his exterior image. It was the same one, Lovino recognised, from the night he had reaped Valentino's soul.

"We're here," Arthur announced calmly, squeezing Lovino's hand in a comforting manner and indirectly telling Lovino he was reading too much into the change. He gave Lovino a brief smile, assuring the Italian that he was still the man whom Lovino knew, but it soon faded in the presence of others. He did, however, keep a strong, firm hold on Lovino's hand. Although the gesture made Lovino's cheeks flush, he thought nothing more of it than Arthur keeping his word to protect him—although that made him redden even more.

"How did you change...?" Lovino murmured under his breath.

"You've been around me for how many days now?" Arthur returned lightly. "If there's anything that you don't understand, it's most likely magic."

"So why did you?" the Italian rephrased his question.

"Because I am a king," Arthur answered shortly. "This is what I usually wear—or have to wear—to meetings, especially ones that involve the Council."

"What makes up the Council?" Lovino inquired curiously.

"A daemon known as the Scribe, the oldest familiar in existence, the Four Lords—which consist of the Patron of the Succubi and Incubi, the Chief of the Revenants, the Count of the Vampires, and the Head Alpha of the Werewolves—as well as the Seven Demon Princes of the Underworld and the King of the Underworld," Arthur answered shortly.

Lovino scowled. "That perverted bastard will be there, too?"

"Unfortunately," Arthur responded despondently. "Mathias is the Chief of the Revenants, and Gilbert is the Head Alpha. You probably already know that though. You've yet to meet the Count or my other brothers, have you?" When Lovino shook his head and responded that he didn't know what the hell a "Count" was, Arthur made sure to mention, "Ivan Braginsky, the Count of the Vampires, can be a dangerous bloke, but he's not quite on the same scale as my oldest brother, Alistair, or my uncle. Rather than being angry or proud all of the time, he's more... despondent or, more likely, mentally unstable. I suppose it comes with being a vampire—most of them are depressing—but, still, be weary around him—that is, if you ever chance upon him. Honestly, I hope that you do not."

"Your Majesty," someone addressed Arthur from the distance. Their eyes fell upon Mathias' motley family, all of whom were dressed in garbs resembling that of the Vikings in the past. They all donned heavy cloaks and fabric along with durable hunting boots. Tino, who had spoken, stepped forward and inclined his head—subtly, somewhat—to Mathias while bowing much more formally to Arthur. "We've come to inform you that the Scribe is growing impatient. Everyone else has arrived already, including Gilbert Beilschmidt's pack."

"The meeting doesn't start for another two hours," Arthur remarked. "The impatient little wanker can squirm and fidget all he wants, but the meeting shall commence whenever I say so."

Gilbert cracked a smile at that and chirped, "I guess we have to get going if we don't want Old Wang's bloomers in a knot! Lead the way, boys!"

Lukas grunted mildly in disdain, and Arthur gave him—briefly—a glance of sympathy. The party of four followed after the revenants as Lovino, for the first time, began to observe his surroundings. Contrary to the setting horizon in the Surface World, the Underworld was pitch black with grey wisps of clouds in the sky like lingering soot and smoke in the air. The moon glowed with a scarlet light tinged with a deep, dark orange, but there were no stars in the sky. Glancing behind them, Lovino spotted the iron gate firmly shut itself as they wandered deeper into the Dark Realm. The path upon which they walked was chequered black and white like a chess board. While the Surface World had cars and planes and buses, it appeared that the Underworld still travelled by coaches pulled by a pair of horses, yet for some reason it also appeared that all of these horses were purely black or grey in colour with terracotta eyes. While such dark horses were rare in the Surface World, it seemed that they were quite commonplace and abundant in the Underworld.

The road was made of dark cobblestone rather than gravel and asphalt, and Gothic lamps were dispersed evenly and uniformly on the pavement, dimly glowing in the darkness, as humanoid beings—some with animal ears and tails, some with pointed ears, some with fangs or snakelike tongues, some with towering or dwarfish heights—roamed the streets. As they made their way into town, however, the daemons of the dark paused in the middle of their activities to bow respectfully to Arthur and to stare, curiously, at Lovino.

"Don't stare; don't even so much glance their way," Arthur whispered into Lovino's ear lowly. His warm breath brushed over the shell of the Italian's ear, and a light blush coated his cheeks—his fear paling his complexion more and more as they sauntered down the pavement. He knew, from the looks in their eyes, that they were eyeing him—not with curiosity—but with hunger. The whispers gradually rose in volume, gaining more and more amplitude, as they managed to reach his ears.

"What is a human doing here?"

"Why does His Majesty King Arthur have a human at his side?"

"Is he a toy for His Majesty King Arthur?"

"His blood smells delicious! Oh, if only the king wasn't by him right now!"

"I want to bite into that flesh—exotic and lean and _fresh_."

"I wonder what his soul looks like if he is with His Majesty King Arthur."

"You're right! He must be something special—for a human!"

Lovino edged closer to Arthur, whose arm instinctively wrapped around Lovino's waist, bringing him closer than before, as terror consumed him. As Arthur's hand slipped from his grasp, Lovino clutched onto the fabric of his dark coat. Perhaps Gilbert was right; perhaps he really hadn't thought through this carefully—not in the way he should have. He knew and he understood that it was dangerous, but he hadn't realised the gravity of the situation. Now it was too late to turn back... But it wasn't as if he would dare to do so.

Damned if I do, Lovino reminded himself, damned if I don't.

"We're almost there," Arthur whispered softly, his lips nearly brushing against Lovino's rich locks. "Hang on for a little longer. We're taking a carriage to the palace. There's no way I'm having you walk this distance." Lovino nodded curtly and bit his tongue, not trusting in his own words at the moment. The party gathered at a corner, where a black carriage awaited them, pulled by a pair of white horses—much to Lovino's surprise—in this dark and dreary world. Instead of a coachman, however, Arthur took the reins and told Lovino to step inside the coach with Mathias and his family. Mathias stepped inside first so that he could aid Lovino into the carriage, followed by Lukas, Emil, Tino, and Berwald. Gilbert joined Arthur in the front, watching as the Briton muttered nostalgically to the two horses. One of which was a mare—purely white—while the other was a stallion more of a silvery colour.

"It's a shame they don't listen to anybody but you," Gilbert mused. "They would have made for a fine dinner."

"You're an arse," was Arthur's response before he snapped the reins, driving the horses to the Palace of the Underworld. The Palace would have been more accurately termed as a castle with its dark stone walls and multitude of towers that stretched into the skies. The roof was tiled with dark slate, and its vicinity was barred by Gothic iron fences and gates. The moment the carriage approached the front entrance, a pair of sentries bowed respectfully to Arthur before granting them access into the castle. Once in front of the front entrance with a grand staircase leading to an enormous pair of heavy engraved doors of dark steel, Arthur handed the reins to a stable-boy who appeared no older than sixteen dressed in work clothes. The stable-boy bowed respectfully and waited patiently until all of the passengers exited the carriage, and after giving Lovino a curious glance, he began to lead the horses to the stables just beyond the gardens. Arthur immediately assumed his position beside Lovino, wrapping his arm firmly around his waist, and led the brunet into the palace with Gilbert and the revenants following closely behind them.

Servants and maids dressed uniformly in black and white bowed extravagantly to them with flourish although a few of them had the gall to glance sceptically at Lovino. "Your Majesty!" a hysterical voice boomed from atop another grand case of stairs in the main foyer. Lovino's eyes followed the red velvet carpet, its hems embroidered with a rich gold, upon the black and white tiled floors, leading up to the stairs. There, he found a man, seemingly of Oriental descent, with long, raven hair pulled back into a ponytail, wearing a red Mandarin jacket with black trousers. His legs were bandaged all the way to his feet, which were covered with black flat shoes. "What is the meaning of this?!" he shrilled, marching down the steps to meet with the king. He swept in a low bow but quickly recovered and resumed his previous position. "Pardon my rudeness, My Liege, but it is my duty as the Scribe to understand what you are planning here!"

"I am planning nothing," Arthur assured calmly.

"Your Majesty, I mean no offence; however, you are here with a human," the Scribe commented dryly, casting his dark eyes over Lovino's shrinking form, before returning his attention back to Arthur. "I doubt that you are planning 'nothing.' With all due respect, Your Majesty, a human has never stepped past the Gate; in all my years, something such as this has hardly ever happened."

"That's because you've never had me as a king before, Yao," Arthur answered brusquely with a devious smirk. "I've certainly raised bloody Hell more than once, and this definitely will not be the last time."

Yao narrowed his eyes wearily before sighing, dropping his tense shoulders, as he mused, "Yes, that is true as well." Changing the topic to something else, the Chinese daemon remarked, "We have little more than an hour before the meeting commences. I am sure Your Majesty would like to retire to his chambers. Shall I send for a maid to prepare you tea?"

"With a bottle of rum if it's black and Scotch if it's green," Arthur replied shortly with a nod of his head. "Preferably the former."

"Of course," Yao responded just as briefly. "I'll send for the arrangements immediately." The Chinese man climbed back up the stairs, and Arthur stepped behind him. When Yao pivoted on his heel to turn into the east wing, Arthur led Lovino into the west wing.

The Italian followed Arthur silently down the hall, which were dimly illuminated with lanterns hovering over their heads, but even though the lights were soft (Lovino assumed it was because daemons of the dark were nocturnal), the boy noticed that Arthur's pupils were narrowed into vertical, catlike slits, filtering the light. Lovino watched with mild surprise and awe as servants and maids paused whatever they were doing to bow or curtsey in front of him, receiving an inclination of the head as acknowledgement of their presence. After a few turns, Arthur slipped into a corridor and strolled all the way to the end, where he momentarily retracted his arm from Lovino's waist—making the boy startle at the loss of contact—in order to push open the vast double doors. A slight creak screeched throughout the hall, making the brunet flinch at the ear-shattering cacophony, before Arthur gestured for Lovino to enter. The Italian glanced behind him and found that nobody had followed them; Gilbert and Mathias and his family were elsewhere.

Obeying wordlessly, Lovino stepped into the chambers, and his jaw immediately dropped, leaving him gaping like a fish, as his eyes bulged out of their sockets in mere astonishment. Arthur's chambers appeared several times larger than his own manor—like an entire apartment or suite or penthouse by itself—and was made mostly of space. His white marble floors were diligently swept without so much a speck of dust while his ivory walls, covered with Victorian printed wallpaper, were untouched by any decoration. There was a sofa in the centre of the room, a Victorian styled sectional sofa with plush creamy, milky white cushions, centring a glass coffee table. At the eastern most wall was a wide bed far larger than one fit for a king, decorated with silk and satin sheets with blankets and comforters of Egyptian cotton, framed by white wood with a white veil canopy. Across from it was a pair of doors leading into a private bathroom, and in a far corner of the chambers was an isolated desk of the same white wood framing the bed, surrounded by shelves and shelves of books like a private library.

Arthur sighed, slipping the sash draping across his torso off his body, and hung it onto a coat stand. Lovino watched, entranced, as the King of the Underworld deftly unbuttoned his coat and flung it onto the stand as he approached his luxurious bed. Dropping onto his back, he relaxed his muscles against the mattress before turning his head. His sharp emeralds pierced through Lovino's presence as he gestured, with only a single finger, for the Italian to approach him. Enraptured, the boy had no other choice but to oblige and to humour the demon. When Lovino stood in front of the demon, Arthur pulled him forward and onto the bed, making the boy yelp with surprise as he collapsed onto a most comfortable surface. The King of the Underworld adjusted Lovino's position, pushing the boy into his chest, as he embraced the Italian.

"I don't want to be here," the blond murmured quietly, his breath tickling the shell of Lovino's ear as he buried his face into the boy's rich, silky hair. "I especially don't want _you_ to be in the Underworld. Even if you are with me, if my uncle is here, I don't know what will happen. Even with my brothers, I don't know what will happen. The other Lords can't raise a hand against you, I know that, along with the lower ranking daemons, but I... I worry. I worry about you, dearest Romano." A shaky exhale trembled past Arthur's lips as he tightened his hold around the Italian. "I haven't worried in _centuries_. It's... It's nerve-wrecking; I've almost forgotten." He laughed—somewhat bitterly, somewhat sweetly, more nostalgically—and mused, "The last time I've been this nervous was during my wedding."

Lovino's heart nearly stopped. "Wedding?" he choked out. A dark emotion haunted his heart, grasping it tightly like the hands of Death, and for a moment, Lovino thought he really had died. Panic, terror, and other unknown variables lingered in his mind as he attempted to clear it, to calm himself, but he tensed. He didn't know if he wanted to know.

Arthur nodded softly and lowered his voice. "I was alive once, you know, when my mother gave birth to me. Well, it is probably more accurate to say that I lived as a human for about twenty years of my life. That period was known as the Arthurian times, during the fifth or sixth century; I can't remember exactly. I... I thought I was an orphan since my mother, my real biological mother, the angel... She died. At least, I thought she did. I was told that she didn't survive childbirth, unable to bear the spawn of the Devil and live, or that the Emperor had ended her life but spared mine. It's quite confusing. You probably don't want to hear it."

No, _now_ it really is confusing, Lovino thought to himself as he sat upright. He thought Arthur was born a demon—or a fallen angel or whatever he was—that he had never died before. He was born immortal and is immortal. Now, Lovino decided, he really did want to know, and he knew that he wanted to know—even if he would come to regret such a decision later. "Start talking, bastard, and tell me everything. We have a whole damn hour before your stupid meeting starts," he snapped impatiently. Maybe it was no way to speak to the King of the Underworld in his domain, but Lovino could care less... Arthur has never hurt him in the time that he's known him, and he didn't seem to be the type who would hurt him at all.

Instead, Arthur cracked an amused smile. "Are you sure?" he asked Lovino quietly, rolling onto his side to study the boy. The brunet flushed upon making contact with those appraising emeralds before nodding firmly—once—to confirm his decision. Arthur then shifted his position, sitting upright as well, and leaned against the headboard. He pursed his lips together in contemplation, wondering how to word his story, before beginning slowly, "I was born sometime in the fifth or sixth century; like I've said before, I'm not sure any more. It's somewhat silly, I know, to have forgotten your birth date, but you have to understand that it's been more than a millennia for me. My mother was an angel, one who fell from the Heavens after having an affair with my father, the King of the Underworld at that time—as you know. She was sentenced to live on the Surface World, but she would often receive guests from the Underworld.

"In the Underworld, I've heard that everyone loved her. After all, she was the first fallen angel they've seen since the beginning of time. She was beautiful, or so my father said. However, she died. She passed away after my birth because of the restraints of the Surface World suppressed her magic but not mine. They said that her last words were, 'This child will be a wonderful king.' My father was devastated, or so they say, because he wasn't with her at the end—separated by the Emperor of the Heavens. He tried searching for me after her death, but the Heavens had other plans. I was raised as a human, an orphan child, and the humans were manipulated to believe such. I was given another mother, another father, sisters instead of brothers, and a fabricated life.

"Then I met a sorcerer named Merlin, a cambion from the union of an incubus and a human woman, and he knew whom I was at first glance. In my biological father's place, Merlin gave me a chance to rule a country—Britannia—and I was the king to succeed Uther Pendragon, the man whom the Heavens decided as my father. I was forever to be king, the one and only true king, of Britannia. I was—and am, I suppose—King Arthur Pendragon Kirkland of Camelot. I was the boy who pulled the sword out of the stone and the one with the Twenty-Four Knights of the Round Table. My sword is named Excalibur, and my lawfully wedded wife was Princess Guinevere... until death do us part. Allegedly, I died in battle, and that was the end of my human existence. I was forced to return to the Underworld and was kept away from her until... until she died. I don't know how, and I don't know what happened to her soul either. After all, I lived a rather meaningless existence—wandering one place to another, occupying one job and then another—mostly to avoid my duties as a prince until I was crowned king."

A bitter smile tinged his lips as he pondered aloud, "I remember that I had thought she was beautiful the very first time I met her, but Merlin had warned me of love at first sight. He had warned me that she would be my ruin and that I shouldn't fall too deeply in love with her. I know now; daemons and humans shouldn't ever fall in love. It's never a happy ending. I was reminded of that again when Francis had begged of me to save Angelique from her fate as a lost soul after his human lover had died in that house fire. They—humans, that is—always die too early while we must go on living." A hand covered his eyes as he rasped, "I can't even remember her face any more—Guinevere, I mean. I wonder... I wonder if I really did love her. I wonder if it wasn't simply infatuation as historians have claimed. Surely, I would remember her face if I really had loved her as much as I've thought I did. Why can't I? Because over a millennia has passed? Because my old memories have decayed? I can barely remember anything of that time though... Now historians have gone and butchered the damn story—my own bloody past—and I can't remember anything more than the fact that I did, once upon a time, love her—somehow, in some way, for some reason and for some time."

Lovino reached out tentatively, grasping his arm, and pulled Arthur into his chest. He wrapped his arms around his neck, weaving his slim fingers through mousy blond tresses capturing the dim golden light within the room, and coaxed the Briton gingerly, "You loved her. It was in the past. Now you're here—with me. You're okay now. I've got you." In the middle of his consoling, the brunet slipped into his mother tongue, whispering gently into Arthur's ear until he calmed from his episode. Upon hearing hard knocks on the door, however, the two of them froze. Arthur pulled away from Lovino, reluctantly, and called for their guest to enter.

A pretty little maid entered the chambers with a silver platter holding a glass bottle of rum, a delicate milk jug, a container of sugar, a steaming hot teapot, and two teacups and shot glasses. She curtsied politely before stepping out of the room. Arthur crawled out of bed and immediately uncorked the rum, pouring it into a shot glass before mixing it into his teacup. He instinctively measured the amount of tea, eyeing the hot beverage, as he poured them two cups. "Would you like milk or sugar? Or do you want to drink it with rum?" he asked of Lovino.

The Italian only shrugged in response and replied, "I've never had tea."

"You're kidding."

Lovino shook his head. "The last time I've had tea was when I was sick, and I don't ever remember being sick," the brunet explained bluntly, crossing his arms. "Surprise me."

"Three sugars and a dash of milk it is," Arthur mused as he diligently prepared Lovino's cup, "since we can't risk you being drunk in the Underworld. All kinds of beasties could come after you." Lovino made no comment in return as Arthur gestured for the younger boy to join him at the sofa. Undeterred by his lack of a response, the blond teased, "You should be honoured." The Italian sauntered casually over to Arthur's side and accepted the cup of tea. An herbal scent wafted about his nose, and he figured it didn't smell so bad. "Not everyone gets to drink tea with the king." Lovino snorted at Arthur's comment before taking a sip that scalded his tongue. He hissed in pain and nearly dropped his cup if Arthur hadn't taken hold of it before it slipped from his hands. The daemon set the cup and saucer onto the coffee table and cupped Lovino's face with a single cheek, forcing his lips to part. Arthur clicked his tongue, studying the pink tongue, and chided, "You should have blown. If you see steam, Romano, it's bound to be piping hot, you know?"

Lovino jerked his head away and snapped, "_Vaffanculo!_"

Arthur chuckled and poured some milk into the spare shot glass, handing it to Lovino. "Have some milk to cool off your tongue," he advised, handing the glass to Lovino, with a cheeky smile. "I'll add some more milk to your tea as well if you'd like."

Lovino narrowed his eyes and remarked, "I'll just wait for it to cool."

Arthur shrugged nonchalantly and reclined in the sofa, blowing on his tea and taking a tiny sip. A moment of silence slipped past them as they each drank their own beverages. The blond set his empty teacup onto the coffee table and poured another shot of rum to mix into his tea. Lovino arched an eyebrow. The brunet asked sceptically, "Should you be drinking before a meeting?"

"I won't get drunk. What may be poisonous to humans has little to no effect on me—especially in the Underworld since the restraints on my powers are broken in this realm. If I did release the entirety of my powers in the Surface World, there could be some adverse effects, like being the catalyst to Armageddon or the Apocalypse. Still, I need something to relax my nerves, and drinking relieves stress for both humans and daemons. Besides, hardly anything ever gets done at these meetings; you'll see," Arthur assured with a wry grin.

An hour later, Arthur was properly dressed in his formal wear, and Lovino held onto his hand like a lost child as they entered the meeting hall. There, Mathias was dressed much like his family in a cloak and traditional hunting gear. Gilbert and his pack all wore modern-styled military uniforms with iron crosses around their necks. There were was that perverted Frenchman from the night Lovino had followed Arthur and the others to a Parisian nightclub for the Otherside. He donned a flashy black pinstriped suit with a salmon pink silk shirt, polished Oxfords, and a fashion scarf in place of a tie. With him, he had three girls from—Lovino grounded his teeth—Arthur's harem, the Frenchwoman, the Spaniard, and the German. There was also the Oriental man from before, and another man _almost_ as pale as Gilbert with silvery blond hair and lavender eyes set on a childish, baby-like face that was almost innocent. Almost. Lovino could sense that there was something eerie about him, and it wasn't the fact that he was dressed in heavy winter attire despite the season. Lovino also spotted Arthur's redhead brother along with four other young men—and a boy, much to Lovino's surprise—who all possessed similar eyebrows.

He assumed they were Arthur's relatives.

All of the people in the room swept into a low, formal bow upon seeing Arthur. After the blond greeted them, they rose and sat at a round table in the centre of the meeting room. The walls were made of white stone, and the floors were of mahogany wood. Each chair was elegantly carved in the same manner, but there was one chair that was missing an occupant. Lovino was sure that he was not allowed to sit there since Arthur had forced him into a lavish throne—no doubt the King's seat. Everyone eyed him curiously, especially the succubi who were asked to leave by the guards. They were escorted out of the room along with Gilbert's pack and Mathias' family, and the sentries closed the door behind them with a loud thud.

"The Duke of Pride is not coming?" Arthur inquired of his subjects as he leaned against the throne.

"This meeting is in regards to _le Duc de Fierté_, after all," Francis answered honestly. "_C'est pourquoi_ we cannot have him here without confrontation."

"He probably already feels affronted we didn't invite him to the party if that is the case," Arthur muttered under his breath. His comment earned a few smiles around the table—namely among his friends and a few relatives. His demeanour took a sharp turn, however, as he demanded, "What is the reason for which you have called us here, Scribe? Lord Bonnefoy, might I inquire as to why you have stated this meeting is regarding my uncle, the Duke of Pride?"

"Your Majesty," Gilbert piped up, "we're all acquaintances as well as your allies and friends now that your uncle is absent—not just this Lord and Scribe and Prince and King bullshit. Let's just drop the formalities since there's nobody else here but Lovino. I mean, we've known each other for almost an entire millennia."

Mathias chortled and remarked, "Yeah, only because you're the youngest lord here at barely five hundred years old!"

"Ah, _oui, c'est vrai_!" Francis exclaimed, crossing his arms and stroking his stubbly beard in thought. "Let's see, the Scribe is the oldest one of us—_évidemment_—then there are the older Kirkland brothers coinciding with me from the third and fourth centuries, then Arthur in the fifth century, Ivan in the seventh century, Mathias in the twelfth, Gilbert in the fourteenth, and the younger Kirkland brothers and cousins in the eighteenth century. Gilbert, you _are_ the youngest lord! _Je n'ai jamais remarqué_!"

"Lot of time passed, _da_?" chirped the lord Lovino now presumed to be Ivan Braginsky.

"We are getting off-topic," Yao Wang remarked pointedly. Once the Scribe mentioned that, everyone froze again and assumed their cool exteriors instead of those of old friends reunited, ready to bicker and banter over bottles of wine and champagne.

"Still, what Gilbert said is a bloody good idea," Arthur agreed quickly. "Nobody here wants to behave civilly around each other; we all know that." The moment those words left his lips, everyone sighed in relief and allowed their tense muscles to relax—save for that tall, pale man with the lavender eyes who had been smiling all the while. Lovino didn't glance at the vampire any more than necessary. Arthur rested against the arm of his throne and asked again, "So why are we here? You blokes said something about Patrick?" Lovino stiffened as he felt the fabric of Arthur's coat brush against his arm and blushed immediately at the contact.

"Rather than the Duke," Yao spoke immediately, maintaining eye contact with the king, as he leaned forward in his seat between Ivan Braginsky and Francis. He rested his elbows against the surface of the table and interlocked his fingers as he questioned, "Arthur, what were you planning that midsummer's night in Rome? There was a massive collection of energy, and suddenly Romulus Vargas' base disappeared entirely."

"I've told you earlier," Arthur retorted blatantly and bluntly, his voice becoming slightly more vehement and aggravated, "that I'm not planning anything. I have no schemes; I am the King of the Underworld. It is my duty and role to maintain the balance between the Dark and Celestial Realm for the sake of the universe."

"However," Yao insisted, "you do not deny taking part in contracting."

"I do not because it is true," Arthur assured. "The rumours of me forming a contract with Romulus Vargas are all true. It is his wish that I destroy his family as the King of the Underworld, and so I will."

"We were there," Mathias interjected as he stood and gestured to him and Gilbert. "We helped Arthur complete his contract, and we could vouch that there was a warlock there." Everyone quieted immediately upon hearing Mathias speak about the (mostly and generally speaking) shameless magic users who willingly relinquished their humanity. The numbers of warlocks and witches in the Surface World were scarce. Quite a few of them were hardly talented or gifted, but most of the daemons of the Underworld resented them for giving up their humanity—namely the vampires and the werewolves. "He was... strong."

"No, he wasn't," Gilbert argued. "He wasn't strong at all."

"I saw from the distance, Gilbert!" Mathias protested. "He had managed to summon Lucifer! If I remember correctly, I had to haul your ass back to the manor, too! He managed to knock _you_ out, and you're one of the _Four Lords_—the strongest of the strong!"

Gilbert spat, "_He _wasn't strong. There's no way anyone _but_ the King of the Underworld or the Duke of Pride and the Duchess of Vanity can control Lucifer. He _is_ Patrick's familiar. That means that Valentino isn't strong, but _Patrick_ is."

The meeting room stilled as everyone registered Gilbert's words, analysing them and evaluating them, before bursting into an uproar. Lovino remained frozen in his seat, petrified with fear, as he watched the daemons of the dark before him launch into a heated debate over topics such as strengthening the military, increasing the number of sentries, situating guards for Arthur, and preventing the King of the Underworld from leaving the palace or even his chambers. Lovino glanced beside him and found that the blond was frothing with anger. His cheeks flushed red, boiling with frustration and exasperation, as his tempers flared.

"_For the bloody love of Hades,_ shut it, and don't you wankers dare tell me again that I'm out of order! _I'm_ not out of order! _You bloody lot_ are out of order! This _whole council_ is out of order!" Arthur roared, once more silencing the room effectively. "This isn't the first time that Patrick's tried a hand at my life, and if anything happens, I can handle myself. He's not as strong as me; he never has been stronger than me. If this is all there is to this meeting, then I'm going back to my chambers to finish off my rum and tea and then go to sleep."

A loud clatter shook the table, and all of the attention shifted to an equally seething redhead who glowered dangerously at Arthur. His hand was clenched into a fist that had banged against the surface of the table only moments ago. "Do ye really think it's as easy as that?" Alistair demanded in a venomous hiss, poison dripping from his tongue. "Someone is trying to kill ye, and ye brush off the threat like it's nothing? Ye have no idea how worried the people are about ye, Arthur! Don't look down on us, dammit, ye stupid little bampot! We've years of experience over ye!"

Arthur clenched his jaw. "Why are you so bloody worried anyway? That's unlike you, Alistair."

The redhead snarled dangerously and seethed, "Demons and devils we may be, but I am still your brother. I've got to look out for ye in accordance with Father's wish. Besides, if Patrick takes over, the entire world—not just Hell or the Underworld—is doomed. He can't maintain the balance like how Father could or like how you can."

"Alistair has a point, Arthur," Owain mentioned lowly but firmly as he made eye contact with his younger brother. "He has several, actually, but the most important thing is this: Patrick has never bothered interfering with your personal matters before aside from finding you a consort—" at the mention of wedding, Arthur scowled "—and he has never interfered with your contracts. By doing so, he is challenging you as a demon to a demon. We have cause to believe that this may be his final move. If he fails—"

"And he will," Gilbert stated adamantly. His curt interruption was accompanied by several nods of agreement.

"Right, when he fails, it is possible that he will give up," Owain concluded.

"Then what are the other possibilities?" Arthur asked of his older brother. He had a few roaming about his mind, but he didn't like them one bit.

"The obstruction of the Underworld," Seamus muttered under his breath, his green eyes clouded with conflict. "I know how Uncle Patrick thinks. He'll destroy something—anything—if not himself; be it the Underworld, the Surface World, or even the Heavens, anything will do."

That was the answer Arthur had been dreading.

"He's been hiding something," Seamus continued. "I've seen him roam the halls one night, clutching a lantern. It... It looked like a white candlelight."

"He's taken someone's soul," Yao concluded, "but he ought to release it into the River Vitae or devour it like most demons."

"He did neither," the ginger haired Kirkland responded with a wry smile. "When demons devour a soul, they grow stronger depending on what kind of soul they've devoured. Usually, there is no noticeable change. However, if Uncle Patrick really has captured a white flame, then the change would be almost phenomenal since it's a rarer flame. Hardly anyone catches anything beyond a yellow flame—namely white or blue."

"A white flame..." Arthur repeated. "Romulus Vargas had a white and blue flame for a soul. Romano has..." The blond glanced at the brunet sitting beside him before forcibly pulling his attention back to the Council. "...he has a most beautiful soul. I can only imagine what Feliciano Vargas has."

"Can't you tell?" Alistair asked dryly.

"Can't," Arthur confirmed. "It's lost."

Everyone was taken by surprise. "What are you meaning, comrade?" Ivan Braginsky inquired slowly, his voice soft and childlike in quality.

"As you all are aware," the King of the Underworld answered calmly, "when people are in a coma, their souls linger away from their body—normally not very far so that they can return some time later after finding their body. In other instances, however, some people never wake up because they never regain their soul. Their souls are basically lost, and essentially that leaves them as an empty shell. That is what Feliciano Vargas is at this moment."

"Do you think...?" Mathias muttered under his breath.

"It's too early to say," Arthur responded dismally, "but I would bet my money on it."

Gilbert nodded in agreement. "Patty is aiming for your life, so he fakes contracts with humans and turns them into his puppets to channel his energy through them. That way, he can target you in the Surface World while he himself remains in the Underworld without expending too much energy since daemon powers are usually restrained in the Surface World. He manages to make contact with someone from _La Famiglia Divina_, the family of Romulus Vargas with whom you have a contract. Once Romulus Vargas passed away, there is an opening for the new Boss, and using the power struggle, he manipulates your contract with Romulus Vargas and sends two of his three grandsons to you, keeping the third as a hostage... Even if you retrieve Feliciano's body, then without his soul, it's practically meaningless."

"If it's like that," Alistair noted, "then it's definitely not over yet."

"So what shall we do?" Francis inquired softly. Everyone was at a loss for words—except for Arthur. His response prompted innumerable surprise and protest that led into another heated debate and discussion that undoubtedly morphed into an argument.

"Nothing," Arthur had replied to his old friend's question. "We—well, _I_, at the very least—will do nothing. I need to continue with completing Romulus Vargas' contract, and that means fetching Feliciano Vargas' soul and eliminating a corrupted 'divine' family. I won't do anything about Patrick."

* * *

"Are we really staying here?" Lovino asked quietly as he clung onto the sleeve of Arthur's coat meekly.

"For the night," Arthur promised. "Kiku and the children will take care of your brother while we're away. He's been loyal to me for as long as I've been accepted as my father's son, and that's practically since he has pledged allegiance as my servant and familiar. You can trust him. Plus, your cousin will be there as well. Carriedo wouldn't do anything stupid while you're risking your life out here."

"So... where will I stay, bastard?" Lovino queried curiously. If it was dangerous for a human to be in the Underworld, then wouldn't it be dangerous to leave Lovino alone? Maybe it was fine since Lovino was in the palace and because everyone here served Arthur, but he still felt uncomfortable with being left to his own devices in the Dark Realm.

"Ah, about that—" the Briton was rudely interrupted when a boisterous werewolf called out his name to talk strategy. It was urgent, Gilbert had claimed, and confidential. Sighing, Arthur pulled away from Lovino and ordered the Italian boy to stay put—don't move, don't talk to anyone, don't even breathe!—before he slipped away to join Gilbert around the corner. In the meanwhile, Lovino realised Arthur's words and warnings meant that, yes, even within the palace, he was still in danger. Maybe he wasn't in so much danger since Arthur could leave his side for a few moments, but, hopefully—hopefully, he prayed and pleaded—Arthur would be back soon.

A playful giggle alerted him of new company, and Lovino immediately froze in his shoes. He craned his neck and spotted the Spanish succubus from before—Isabel. Tonight, she was clad in a strapless scarlet evening gown made of chiffon and decorated with golden embroidery. The bust was low enough to expose her cleavage, and the slit in the side of her dress was long enough to reveal her long, tanned legs and the stiletto heels with straps that wrapped around her ankles. Her brown hair was pulled into an up-do decorated with a crimson flower for straying eyes to linger on her long neck.

"You're that cute little boy who has been tagging along with King Arthur, _sí_?" she inquired as she approached the Italian. With her heels, she was just at his height and could make perfect eye contact with him. Her ivy green eyes sparkled with mirth as she grasped onto his arm and pressed into his side, brushing her bosom against his body. "Say, _querido_, what is your relationship with him?" Her painted lips brushed against his ear, sending shivers down his spine. "You are not friends, are you? Lovers, perhaps? If that is the case, then that may be a problem..." She smiled. "I am after the throne, you see, and I have been after the throne for quite a while now. I want to be_ su reina_. He is a wonderful man and an even better lover." Her words lacerated Lovino's heart mercilessly, twisting and turning uncomfortably, widening and deepening the wound. "Do you want me to show you how I please him in bed? How the other girls please him?"

"Isabel," another voice called out delicately, "that's enough. Can't you see that he wants to cry?" Lovino's gaze followed to the source of the voice and found a smirking Marianne standing there dressed in yet another strapless evening gown, white in colour, of lace and chiffon with a lavender shawl. A few layers of skirts bunched at her waist, pulling upwards elegantly, and was pinned by a sophisticated white rose. A silver tiara in her hair glistened underneath the castle lights hovering over their heads, and attention was immediately drawn to the necklace with a silvery charm spelling out Arthur's first name lying right between her collarbones right above her pert bosom. "Besides, you are giving him false hope if you tell him that you are the one who wants to be queen," Marianne teased, challenging the Spanish woman. "He might think that he has a chance."

Isabel laughed. "Nobody has a chance when they are against you, Mariana," she responded bitterly, "the king's favourite succubus." She sighed in exasperation and wrapped her arms around Lovino's neck. "Maybe I should just eat this one up myself and save yourself the trouble with more competition—however slight the change."

"Giving up on Arthur already?" Marianne mused. "That's unlike you, but I appreciate the thought."

Lovino froze when Isabel pressed a kiss to his temple. "Hey," she whispered into his ear, "there's a bedroom right around the corner. How about it, _cariño_? You want to have some fun before you leave? I can show you a few tricks when it comes to Arturo."

"Isabel, Marianne," a cold, commanding voice snapped from around the corner, "the other girls are expecting you for dinner." Lovino instantly turned to face his saviour and felt a cool surge of relief wash over him.

"Are you coming with us, Arthur?" Marianne inquired innocently.

"Unfortunately, I have other plans to which I must attend," Arthur responded calmly as he marched to Lovino, snatching his wrist, and pulling him along relentlessly. The Italian tried to catch his attention but faltered in his attempt when he noticed the darkening of Arthur's eyes and the further narrowing of his pupils into vertical slits underneath the dim castle lights. His hair was streaked with red strands, stained into his mousy blond locks like oxidised blood. Fear instilled his heart, nearly rendering him immobile, as he stumbled over his feet trying to catch up and keep up with the most infuriated daemon. The moment they had reached Arthur's chambers in the west wing, the blond flung Lovino inside the room and flipped the lights for the latter's comfort. However, Lovino wished he had kept them off instead. Lovino's heart pounded violently in his chest, causing it to swell with pain, as he peered into those glowering emeralds, hardened, sharpened, and steeled.

It hurt more than Isabel's words.

Lovino immediately dropped his eyes to the marble floor, but Arthur was quick to grasp hold of Lovino's chin with one hand and jerk his head upwards, forcing the brunet to stare into those cold emeralds. "I thought I told you not to speak with anyone," Arthur hissed.

"I didn't!" Lovino protested. "_She_ spoke _to me_!" A flustered and frustrated warmth pricked at Lovino's eyes, itching them, trickling from the corners of his eyes and dripping down his cheeks in exasperation as he snapped, "What was I supposed to do? Run away? Run into someone else and have to explain to them that I was running away from a woman?! _You_ were the one who left me alone anyway! How the hell is this _my _fault?"

"You were _tempted_ into sleeping with her!" Arthur roared, deafening Lovino's ears. "Do you understand what sleeping with a succubus means—for a _human_? Climax enough times and you'll _die,_ Romano. Isabel is skilled, too. She knows how to feed and sustain herself. You only need to do it with her once, and you're done—for good."

Lovino grounded his teeth and shoved Arthur away. "What are you implying? That you don't want me to sleep with one of your sluts? That I'm easy enough to be seduced by one of them? Or are you fucking _bragging _about your women?"

"What are _you_ saying?! They're succubi, Romano! They know _how to get a man_, so it's only child's play for them to wrap a _boy_ around their finger!"

"I'm _not_ a boy, dammit, you stupid bastard! I'm nineteen years old, and I wouldn't sleep with anyone who doesn't love me and whom I don't love!" Lovino cried, grabbing onto Arthur's lapels and glaring furiously at him. "I might flirt around every now and then, but I'm not like my grandfather! I only want one person to be in my life forever, one person whom I can marry and love for the rest of my life!"

In the next instant, his lips were swallowed in a heated, passionate kiss. The grasp he held on Arthur's lapels tightened before loosening. His arms wrapped around the blond's neck, closing the distance between them, as one of Arthur's hand rested on his waist, dangerously close to his ass, and pressed him into the daemon's body. The other hand was curled within Lovino's hair, preoccupied with keeping their lips locked together as they kissed again and again. Arthur's tongue broke past Lovino's lips, asserting his dominance over the smaller boy without so much asking for admittance, and overwhelmed him entirely even when Lovino ventured into the foreign cavern opposite his own. His tongue brushed over two sharp incisors, drawing a trickle of blood that Arthur immediately lapped with his warm tongue. Within one fluid movement, as he had Lovino distracted, Arthur picked him up, forcing Lovino to wrap his legs around the blond's waist, and threw him onto the bed.

Lovino gasped from the shock and inhaled a sharp intake of air. His eyes fell upon Arthur's feral eyes, and his body froze immediately from the surprise. What had just happened? What was happening?

Arthur seemed to have realised the same thing and flushed immediately. His eyes averted from Lovino, wanting to focus on anything but the boy in front of him. He raked a hand through his mousy blond hair sheepishly, the red tinge fading just like the glow in his emeralds. His pupils widened gradually, looking more human than feline, though not as human as in the Surface World, and when he parted his lips to speak, the sharp incisors Lovino had felt were no longer there.

"Forget about this," Arthur muttered.

Lovino's heart stopped.

"What?"

"Forget about all of this," Arthur whispered softly. He took Lovino's hand within his own and said, "I could erase your memories—if you want—and we can forget this ever happened—!"

_Slap!_

Lovino's hand stung as though the ends of his nerves had been frayed by some electric shock. His chest heaved violently, throbbing with pain, as he questioned, "Dammit! Just now what was that to you? Why the hell do you want to forget, you bastard?"

"...I can't love a human," Arthur croaked out. He didn't so much touch the red hand print on his cheek. Tears flooded his eyes, turning the green into liquid emerald, as they rolled down his cheeks. "I can't... I'm a demon. It won't end well if I do. I can't do that to you. It's not fair. Our existences are entirely different. That's why I can't love a human... but I do."

Lovino's heart ached as he pulled Arthur into his arms.

"This is the suspension bridge effect," Arthur endeavoured to persuade Lovino. "You don't really love me, do you? You didn't want to kiss me. You were just so caught up in the moment that your heart mistook anger and fear for something else—something like love. This is just the suspension bridge effect, Romano. It doesn't mean anything; it's not real. It doesn't exist, okay?"

"Bastard," Lovino grumbled, burying his face into Arthur's mousy hair, unruly yet somehow soft. Like a pet's, the Italian mused to himself. "Don't tell me how I feel when I know perfectly well how I feel—how I really feel. Don't give me that bullshit."

I love you, too.

Arthur choked out, "I'm so sorry."

"Just shut up," Lovino grumbled, pressing a gentle kiss to Arthur's head in spite of his tone. "Just shut up, bastard. You don't have anything to apologise for."

I really do love you.

Lovino pulled away from Arthur, separating the two of them with a distance of a few centimetres, before bringing their lips together, locking together perfectly, in a gentle kiss. This was how it ought to be, he decided the moment Arthur responded meekly. The blond pushed him down onto the bed tentatively and tenderly with nothing but adoration and love in his shimmering emeralds among the dimmed lights. This is how it should be, Lovino confirmed to himself yet again as the blond closed the distance, leaning into Lovino's warmth, for yet another kiss.

Because we love each other, it's fine.

* * *

**A/N:** It's true that pure black horses are quite uncommon. Foals that are born with dark coats may actually get "sun bleached" over time as well. They do play a bit of symbolism in this chapter, and so do Arthur's white horses. I envision the Underworld as a sort of Gothic/Victorian setting, so that's why there's a lack of technology. Additionally, I get the feeling that humans are more innovative than daemons... possibly because their lifespans are shorter.

I've always fancied Arthur as King Arthur for some reason or another. I'm not too sure about the reason why Himaruya chose that particular name for England, but I have always imagined it to be because King Arthur Pendragon was the legendary king of the Britons. I wanted to use it in some way or another in one of my stories; this happened to be the one.

In the council scene, I've alluded to a 1979 American film with one of Arthur's lines. I'll give you a hint: Arthur Kirkland, defence attorney. I'll be pretty happy if you can guess what I'm talking about! I'm pretty pleased with how this update fell on 23 April 2014 as well. It's Arthur's birthday, and he got a kiss!


	9. Chapter 8

**VIII: A Sinner's Pride**

A night breeze crept into the room through the balcony's open glass doors, tossing the ivory curtains about the form of a slender young man, as the aforementioned blond with bedraggled tresses downed another shot of rum that he had forgotten to finish earlier that night. Dressed in only a pair of boxers that he had slipped onto his body hastily mere seconds ago, thereby exposing the scratches and love bites that marred his pale body to all who laid eyes upon him, Arthur stared beyond the dark horizon. There was no daylight in the Underworld, and he loathed it. There was only a vague sense of morning, noon, evening, and night by the internal biological clocks of roughly twenty-four—maybe even twenty-five or twenty-six—hours ruling their sense of time.

This was eternity.

No time passed here, only the sense of time, in a world that was trapped forever in darkness. He hated it, yet he garnished his title of this world's king with pride and esteem. There was nobody else, his father had insisted, who could occupy the crown and the throne. Everyone else was a sinner unable to make clear judgements, both driven and blinded by their own self-interests, and Arthur was dragged from his country of Britannia to rule an entire dimension instead. He was raised for this, the blond recalled vaguely. He was mentored by Merlin at only twelve and hardly three years later sat upon the throne to an emerging country as though his beloved Britannia was simply a trial, a farce or a contest of sorts between the Heavens and the Underworld. Then when he disappeared from the Surface World, allegedly dying in battle, his education continued—only this time focused on his growing and unique powers—until his father's "disappearance." He was a daemon and a demon by blood though he was nothing like the others. At first he was despised and ridiculed, and now he was loved by all but a few—including his own uncle, his father's brother-in-law and his aunt's husband.

How ludicrous, Arthur mused silently as he poured himself another shot, emptying the bottle of its dregs, and downed it to the very last drip. "I'm nothing," he mumbled softly to keep from disturbing that beautiful creature in his bed. His eyes strayed to the young man of barely nineteen, gazing over his tousled hair and his exotic olive skin that had been bitten and bruised with Arthur's marks. The marks of a stubborn lover sucking and biting and nibbling on Lovino's skin far outnumbered the love bites Arthur himself had received, but the cuts and scratches paled in comparison to the scrapes on Arthur's own pale flesh. "If only I could give him peace," the blond whispered wistfully, admiring his soft, peaceful features, "then all really would be fine."

However, because a daemon outlived a human, there can only be travesties awaiting the two of them if they prolonged this relationship. A part of him yearned for it—contact, closeness, tender love and care—and a part of him condemned it—sorrow and despair, agony and despondence. He faintly recalled a similar fate centuries ago, and he feared the same outcome. Arthur was twenty-three forever, but Romano had only a few years if nothing happened—living eighty years to eighty-three on average for the typical Italian man. They were already so far apart, living in different worlds, so how could they even close the distance?

Well, Arthur supposed, he could begin with a few steps. The blond stepped back into his chambers, closing the balcony doors behind him and pulling the curtains to cover the glass, as he sauntered quietly to the bed. Arthur crept onto the mattress, pulling the covers over his body, as he pulled close to Romano and held the Italian in his arms.

Maybe, he thought to himself, this moment was all that mattered.

Arthur knew that Romano was meant for him. It was part of a demon's ability, after all, to see into a person's soul, and Romano, despite all of his flaws and imperfections, was simply perfect. Kissing his lover goodnight, Arthur closed his eyes and slept restfully, revelling in Romano's earthly warmth and aroma. Yes, he mused dreamily, nuzzling his young lover, this was perfect.

* * *

Gilbert, Mathias, and Francis were gathered in front of the iron gate, ready to depart for the Surface World. They appeared to be chatting leisurely and idly to themselves despite the gravity of last evening's discussion and were dressed accordingly in casual attire. Gilbert wore a black and white striped shirt zipped underneath a black hooded jacket with a skeleton print on the side, faded blue jeans, and red high-tops. Mathias, on the other hand, dressed in a casual tan jacket over a plain white tee with a pair of indigo jeans and runners. Francis donned a dark navy blue blazer with crimson silk shirt with a few buttons left undone and a pair of white slacks and black Oxfords. Upon noticing Arthur and Lovino's arrival, their conversation died to greet the two newcomers. Gilbert, however, noticed something strange and began to sniff the air indiscreetly, his nose twitching on occasion.

"What? What?" Francis exclaimed as the albino began to hunt the area for the source of the disturbance. "I bathe frequently! Maybe you are smelling yourself—_l'odeur d'une canine_!"

"Oi! Watch yourself! I don't stink that badly! Why don't _you_ try patrolling the globe without sweating, Francy-Pants?!" Gilbert barked immediately, affronted, before brushing off the insult. He continued to follow the scent as he griped at Francis. "Anyway! It's not that, it's just that... Arthur's smell is stronger. Like there's two people with his smell—oh." Gilbert stopped in front of Lovino and narrowed his red eyes immediately at the Italian dressed in the same clothes from yesterday—only washed as ordered by Arthur to the nearest maid within the hour that morning, or what he supposed was morning since it was still dark outside. "I get it," he grumbled, dropping his voice. "You've been marked by him—his property, huh?"

"Gilbert," Arthur warned slowly, glaring at his friend and stepping between the two of them as inconspicuously as possible, "that's enough."

"Arthur..." Gilbert reasoned.

"I know," the blond returned just as shortly, his eyes softening. He repeated again for emphasis in order to assure his friend, "I know, Gilbert."

"What?!" Gilbert crowed, snickering loudly and deciding to break the tense atmosphere that fell upon the five of them, as he clapped Arthur on the back, covering up his previous concern. "I was just thinking that—_damn_!—you look sexy today!" He fixed the loose red tie hanging around Arthur's neck and played with the collar of his black button shirt before slapping his friend's—but also king, as Arthur maliciously reminded him—ass right on the Union Jack pattern of his light blue jeans. "Your leather gloves are sexy, too, and nice boots by the way! Those are Docs, right?" Just as the werewolf had pointed out, Arthur was indeed wearing a pair of Doc Martins—white in colour with heavy black soles and lace.

"This was all that I had from the last time I was here," Arthur defended himself indignantly.

"Right, from the eighties, yeah? It looks fine; you look fine. Actually, you should wear that style more often. It fits you pretty well—demon that you are," Gilbert continued nonchalantly as he marched back to Mathias and Francis. "Anyway, let's get back to Kiku so we can wrap up the mission!"

"What's the Frog doing here?" Arthur inquired as he glanced blatantly and pointedly at Francis, who scowled in response.

"Do you not remember that I have been running a nightclub in Paris for the last decade?" the Frenchman remarked dryly. "As the Patron of the Incubi and Succubi and the Head of Intelligence regarding _les affaires de l'Underground_, I am stationed on the Surface World."

"Is that so? I suppose your existence was so insignificant that it slipped my mind," Arthur returned just as sourly. He rolled his eyes and raised his hand towards the gate, commanding it to open, yet the gates did not part even after an entire minute had passed.

"Hey, are you doing it right?" Francis questioned sceptically.

"Who the bloody hell do you think you're talking to?" Arthur snapped indignantly, clearly offended, as he glared at the Frenchman. "Something went wrong. They won't open—not even to me. That's... That _should be_ impossible."

"What do you mean?" Mathias inquired as he attempted to open the gates himself—using only his bare hands this time—to try to force them open. "Does that mean we're stuck here?"

"Shit," Arthur cursed. "We can't get out, and nothing else can get in. The souls that were destined for Hell will be left behind on Earth, the last place they need to be, and if they go back to their bodies, we can't escort any revenants to the Underworld. The newly turned won't have an idea of what the bloody hell they can or can't do according to the rules and regulations of the Otherside."

"That's... bad, right?" Gilbert concluded.

"It's worse than bad, you git," Arthur muttered, running his hands through his hair. "It's much worse than bad—if not the worst."

"What's the worst?" Gilbert queried of his friend.

"If it somehow brings about world destruction, such as the Apocalypse or Armageddon," Arthur responded shortly before glancing around them. Sensing Lovino's growing fear and panic, the blond brought his lover closer to him by the waist. "Mathias, it won't open by force. Let's get back to the palace and get to the bottom of this."

The moment they've returned to the palace, they were immediately greeted by a confused and bewildered Yao Wang, who was told to fetch his brothers, cousins, and aunt and uncle for breakfast. No matter what, Arthur insisted, they have to appear. They all marched to the dining hall, and Arthur assumed the seat at the fore of the table. Lovino was to sit to his right in what Francis called the consort's seat, successfully making the brunet flush with embarrassment. Once everyone assumed their seats, the Kirkland family began to file into the dining hall one by one, first beginning with Alistair. The fiery redhead was dressed in his military gear—an entirely black attire consisting of a long coat, a button shirt, belts and buckles that overlapped and crossed his torso, and trousers tucked into heavy combat boots—and carried his officer's hat under his arm. After Alistair was Owain, who hadn't bothered dressing himself and was completely clad in pinstriped pyjamas, then Seamus, who was dressed casually in a pair of jeans with a t-shirt, sweater, and runners, then Peter in his usual sailor outfit, then Jett, dressed raggedly in athletic gear, then James, who donned a snug sweatshirt and joggers as well as runners, the two brothers having been training or out for a run, and a gorgeous woman with a curvy, hourglass figure, long ginger hair pulled into a braid, and green eyes tinged with yellow ambers. She wore an elegant dress of deep green that fell past her knees with only a single strap, accenting her eyes, with black heels. She would have been beautiful had not been for the ghastly pallor of her skin, making her appear a sickly woman, but she was still a sight for sore eyes.

"That's seven of them," Arthur muttered under his breath. "Now where's the eighth?"

"What's the meaning of this, Artie?" Alistair snapped angrily as he narrowed his eyes at his younger brother. "Why haven't ye gone back to your quest yet?"

"Someone's sealed the Gate, and even I can't force it open this time," Arthur answered shortly. "All of us know that only the royal family have the ability to seal the Gate to the Underworld. The culprit is someone of our family." The words were spoken bitterly, and it stung even Lovino, an outsider to Arthur's family. Glancing at the Briton, Lovino noticed in his eyes that Arthur didn't want to do this either. Traces of hurt and betrayal lingered in his eyes, mixed thoroughly with disbelief. "The Gate to the Underworld should never be sealed—unless under orders from the Emperor of the Heavens. It has been that way for millions of years now, hasn't it?" Arthur's eyes fell upon the woman. "Aunt Bridget, where is Uncle Patrick?"

She averted her yellow green eyes away from her nephew, the colour wavering like shimmering crystals, and murmured, "I don't know, Arthur. I'm sorry."

"Oh, don't cry, Aunt Bridget!" Alistair exclaimed in exasperation, throwing his arms into the air before ruffling his hair madly. "What the deuce is going on, Artie? What do ye mean the Gate is sealed?"

"Exactly what it sounds like, you deaf git!" Arthur retorted impatiently and hotly. "I can't open it, nor can I break the seal and force it open! Plus, it seems unlikely that Uncle Patrick could overtake my own magic! He must have some kind of bloody trick up his sleeve..."

"Bridget," Seamus called to their aunt casually. It was no secret in the palace that Seamus hardly had any kind of respect for his aunt after she had wedded Patrick, with whom he disagreed even more. "Do you have any idea where Patrick is?"

"If I knew," Bridget wailed, "do you not suppose I would have told you already? That man frightens me terribly now! In the last century, all of which he could think involved usurping the throne, and his followers have now amounted to four percent of the general population! That's one percent of women and three percent of men! He is not the man with whom I fell in love; he is not the man with whom was close friends and allies with your father and my brother!"

Jett and James immediately began to soothe their mother and escorted her away from the dining hall after giving Arthur an apologetic glance. In recent years, her emotions had been relatively unstable compared to everyone else's. Although they didn't like the prospect of it, the Kirkland brothers and cousins all knew in some shape, way, or form that Bridget Kirkland had been harbouring some secret from them. Seamus addressed this once the doors to the dining hall closed firmly and asked, "Should we coax the truth out of her?"

"How?" Owain retorted calmly. "With the way things are, it would take years of therapy for her to speak even _about_ the truth—not just the truth." He sighed, and Alistair grunted. "The only other persons she cares about most after her husband has to be her sons. Hopefully, they manage to pull her together before it's too late and too much damage is done."

"Well, with or without her, we have to break open the Gate somehow," Arthur stated firmly. "That is our first priority. It's dangerous to have it closed for so long. Perhaps if magic is used on both sides of the Gate, then the seal could potentially be broken. Owain, could you handle this?"

The auburn haired Kirkland yawned and stretched, smacking his lips together sleepily, and replied, "i could, but I'm going to need a few more skilled mages. Are you not joining?"

"I have to investigate this matter regarding Uncle Patrick," Arthur explained, spitting out the name with patent disdain and repulsion. "I'll call for Lukas and Vladimir to join you. They both have accompanied their lords to the meeting last night, so they must not have been able to leave."

"Then what of the other side?" Alistair inquired.

"Let's hope only the Gate is sealed and not communications as well," Arthur muttered before gesturing to a maid to bring him a mirror. The size was irrelevant, but it must be delivered with the utmost haste. Another maid was told to inform Jett and James that they should stay with their mother since the brothers hardly had reason to defy their cousin in this situation especially. Although Arthur loathed to suspect his own aunt, she was the closest person to her husband. He couldn't risk any variables slipping out of his own control. "Alistair, I'm counting on you to gather intelligence," Arthur mentioned, "as well as mobilising your men."

Alistair cracked a wry grin and remarked, "They're as much yours as they are mine." Standing onto his feet, the legs of his chair squealed against the tiled floor before he stepped away from the dining table. "They're already awake. We were in the middle of drills when ye called me here. This is an emergency situation, right?" Alistair asked of his younger brother as he approached the double doors of the dining hall.

"What else would it be?" Arthur responded dryly.

The redhead chuckled, musing, "They'll be excited to do something other than regulate Hell."

"Then I'll leave it to you to control them," Arthur remarked shortly, rolling his eyes. He turned to his younger brothers and asked, "Can the two of you manage the household while everyone else is busy?"

Seamus snorted while Peter pouted. "Of course we can!" snapped the ginger haired Kirkland. "Who the hell do you think we are—or at least me?!"

"Hey!" Peter protested.

"Come on, brat!" Seamus declared loudly as he swung an arm around Peter's neck, pulling the youngest Kirkland among with him, "Let's get to work!" This, of course, left only the second and third sons together in the dining room with their comrades.

The maid hastily returned with the mirror Arthur had requested, and on its reflective surface, the blond traced the pattern of a circumscribed star with his right forefinger, leaving a trace illuminated with small blue flames. Lovino watched with awe as the mirror glowed entirely before summoning an image of Alfred, Matthew, and Angelique battling to speak with Arthur, each of whom shouted and cried his name with a toothbrush in their mouths. In the background, Lovino could find Jia Long and Neeraja slowly brushing their teeth though they stared at Arthur with curiosity in their dark eyes.

Arthur smiled fondly at the children and replied that, yes, he missed them, too. "It seems like the communication network between the dimensions hadn't been disrupted," the blond announced to the remaining comrades within the dining hall. Gilbert peered over Arthur's shoulder and crowed a rowdy hello to the children while Francis' greeting was more amiable than the albino's. He made a point to ask Angelique how she was doing, and when she replied, addressing Francis as Monsieur Bonnefoy, his expression faltered into one of heartbreak and bitter-sweetness. "This was a mistake on Patrick's part, but at least we can use it to our advantage," the Briton informed his friends and brother. "Boys—and Angelique—once you're done, can you fetch Kiku? I have to ask him a favour."

They obliged immediately, spitting out the foamy toothpaste and rinsing their mouths clean, before chasing after the fox spirit in their residence. Moments later, all five children returned to the bathroom with Kiku in tow. "Your Majesty?" Kiku addressed the king through the mirror with mild panic in his usually levelled voice. "How come you have yet to return?"

"We're stuck," Arthur informed his familiar smoothly and calmly as panic settled in the Oriental's features. "The Gate won't open. Somehow it has overridden even my authority; I believe Patrick is behind it. We need to force it open from both sides. I want you and the children to head to the nearest cemetery and to set up a barrier to prevent any humans from interfering. Owain, Lukas, and Vladimir will try to open the Gate on our side."

"Your Majesty," Kiku replied humbly, "the children cannot wander too far away from your manor now that you are not here. Additionally, there is the possibility of danger leaving Feliciano Vargas-sama alone in this manor."

"I am aware of that," Arthur muttered softly, "but we have to try. You can't do this by yourself since it requires too much magic, but if everyone evacuates the manor, then that could leave it susceptible to outside attacks if Patrick interferes again."

"Wait a minute," Gilbert spoke up, calling all attention to him, "if we're stuck here, wouldn't Patrick be stuck here with us? Now that Valentino's gone, he doesn't have a puppet either, and to establish another fake contract, he would have to make contact with a human in person. Plus, if he's being selective on his puppets, then he wouldn't have enough time to find another one."

"Then the risk of another attack is low," concluded a voice from the other side of the mirror. Antonio lumbered into the bathroom, appearance bedraggled, and gave the daemons a sheepish smile. "I'll stay here and guard Feli. You do what you need to do, _amigos_. Hey, Francisco, long time no see!"

"Good to see that you're still alive, Antoine," Francis greeted with a friendly nod.

"I'm glad that I'm still alive, too, and the same goes for you, Lovi! I got so scared when I saw that you weren't here!" Antonio admitted cheekily. His eyes glinted briefly, and it seemed that nobody but Lovino had caught the look in his eyes. He knew what it was, too; Antonio knew about him and Arthur—somehow. Antonio then sighed before announcing that he could use a churro and some coffee. With that, the Spaniard exited the bathroom, leaving Kiku to assent to Arthur's orders. With that, the connection between the two worlds faltered, leaving only a regular mirror in Arthur's hands.

"I suppose I ought to leave now," Owain told Arthur before standing up and dismissing himself. "I'll meet your friends there."

"I'll help with reconnaissance," Gilbert informed. "Kerberos is already on the move."

"I'll go find Lukas and Vladimir," Mathias announced. "The rest of us will see to Patrick's movements."

"I'll tell the girls not to bother you for today," Francis continued before glancing at Lovino, "or, you know, until... well, never mind. If you give me _le miroir_, I'll get in contact with my units on the Surface World and try to gather intelligence from there. We may be able to send a few mages to support Kiku as the children as well—anything to lessen the burden on the children." Francis glanced again at Lovino with an indistinguishable emotion in his eyes—a mixture of scepticism and concern, perhaps. In response, Lovino narrowed his eyes at the Frenchman as he left with the other two, mirror in hand.

"You must be hungry," Arthur whispered softly, grasping Lovino's hand firmly. "I'll send for breakfast immediately; originally, I would have had Kiku prepare you breakfast once we've returned, but... At any rate, I'm sorry you had to be dragged into this." The emeralds averted from Lovino's eyes, and the Italian returned the hold on his hand with a tight squeeze.

"You can't help it," Lovino grumbled under his breath, a tinge of red coating his cheeks. "Besides, it's all your uncle's fault. Just... Protect me, okay?"

Arthur smiled. "Forever," he promised.

* * *

"There's been a breech in the rear of the palace!" a soldier exclaimed as he approached his commander.

Alistair scowled and punched the wall nearby, leaving a nasty dent in the wall, before gathering with the two of the Four Lords, all of whom were in charge of a branch of the Underworld military, the Head Alpha, head of the security of the Otherside, and the Revenant Chief, leader of the Underworld's elite extermination unit. Gilbert looked just as displeased as Alistair while Mathias now bore a solemn expression on his visage instead of his usual cheerfulness. "We hinder their progress," Gilbert announced coolly. "Strengthen the defences in the rear and begin offensive manoeuvres!"

"What if it's a decoy?" Mathias pointed out. "If that's the case, then we'll end up leaving the other areas weakened and vulnerable. We have to maintain our other defences as well."

"No, we'll let them in and then strengthen our defences, thereby weakening the breech," Alistair insisted. The other two generals stared at him as through he had grown another head and had gone mentally insane, and the scowl on Alistair's lips deepened at this realisation. "Don't look at me like that! If we weaken the defences in the beginning, it will lower _theirs_. At the same time, we get a feel of their strengths and weakness; then we'll cut them off from their rest of their army and deploy a small, elite troop to get rid of them."

Matching wicked grins stretched Gilbert and Mathias' lips as they realised where Alistair was heading with this. "And who gets the honour of tearing the invaders apart?" Gilbert inquired excitedly, bearing his canines. "I want revenge for the time on the Surface World; nobody summons a damn cockatrice on the awesome Gilbert Beilschmidt and gets away with it!"

"Be my guest," Alistair responded, "since we're going to need someone to track them down anyway. Kerberos has always been our most loyal guard dog, so go sic 'em, lads."

Upon hearing those words, Gilbert shifted into the form of a hellhound and trotted in the direction of the palace rear. On his way, he nearly crashed into Ivan Braginsky, who smiled upon him eerily. "White truly suits you, comrade," he complimented offhandedly. At this, Gilbert narrowed his eyes, but Ivan Braginsky paid him no mind. Instead, he continued speaking, "Off to defend castle, are you not? I have received orders to control inside intelligence myself with Yao Wang. Rebels are confused now, _da_? Well, off to work you be going!" Gilbert snorted before dashing in the direction of the invasion. Along the way, he ran past members of his pack who followed after him wordlessly.

In the meanwhile, Lukas, Vladimir, and Owain, who was now forced to wear his scholarly robes instead of his sleep or lounge wear, stood in front of the gate with their eyes closed. Behind the three of them were support mages either strengthening their magic or aiding them in forcing the gates open themselves. A powerful aura radiated from the leading three, but it was still not enough to thrust the gates open. Owain frowned at this realisation while attempting to maintain his concentration.

Uncle Patrick must have used something to seal these gates shut—something powerful—powerful like... like the Will of God, otherwise known as the Divine Right and the Mandate of Heaven. Aside from the King of the Underworld, the only other being who could force these gates shut was the Emperor of the Heavens. Still, what role did their grandfather have to play in this? Why would he aid Uncle Patrick? He had to inform Arthur of this, but maybe his younger brother already realised this earlier and decided to keep it to himself, not wanting to disturb Alistair or Seamus of all people. That's why Owain cleared his mind of everything and focused instead on forcing these gates to open.

On the other side, Kiku carried Alfred under his arm and Matthew over his shoulder. Angelique clung onto his back while Jia Long and Neeraja were dragging their feet on the ground. "Just a little more," Kiku persisted, encouraging the children, "until we make it to the cemetery, children. Perhaps you will feel His Majesty's powers through the Gate and be rejuvenated. Please, just hold on for a little more." They farther the five children were away from their binding place—Arthur's magic or his manor—then the weaker they would feel. He wasn't sure if they could keep this up any longer, but still they endured and endeavoured.

Setting them onto the ground of the cemetery in front of the closest grave, Kiku immediately prepared a barrier before collapsing onto his posterior. Shifting his position so that assumed the _seiza_ position where he knelt with his hips touching his ankles, Kiku closed his eyes and folded his hands together—face up in the cosmic mudra—and cleared his mind of anything and everything but his breaths. The children joined him in their own positions, gathering in a circle, as their energies collected. There were only six of them here, and on the Surface World, their abilities were restrained. He hoped that reinforcements would arrive later and that the other party on the other side of the Gate could make up for the lack in power.

* * *

Arthur observed with utter adoration on his visage as Romano dined on his breakfast, admiring the way Romano savoured each and every bite. He supposed Francis came in handy at times—but only when it came to cooking. Glancing out the window for a brief moment, the King of the Underworld then spotted a giant cockatrice beyond the glass. He immediately rocketed to his feet, catching the Italian's attention. "What's wrong?" his younger lover asked instantly as he set down his silverware. Romano joined Arthur onto his feet, but the blond quickly grasped the Romano's shoulders and forced him back into his chair.

"You can't come with me," Arthur told the young man gently with concern prominently featured in his emeralds, flashing with panic and fear. "It's too dangerous. I'll have someone watch over you, but whatever you do... Don't leave the palace. Don't wander from their sight. Do you understand me, Romano? I can't risk losing you here. It's a dangerous place; the only people who have managed to leave the Underworld aside from its resident daemons alive and alone are heroes like Hercules. Promise me you won't do anything reckless."

"And leave you alone?" Romano snapped angrily, shooting back onto his feet and slapping away Arthur's hands when the latter tried to seat him yet again.

"I'm the King of the Underworld, the strongest person here," Arthur assured. "Nothing will happen to me."

"Like hell!" Romano protested. "Your uncle is trying to take your life! I think I have reason to worry about you!"

"Romano, please!" Arthur argued. "This isn't the time for this!"

"Then don't dismiss matters of life and death so easily!" Romano barked heatedly. "Do you think you're _invincible_, you bastard?! Why the hell do you think your uncle is trying to kill you?! Because he thinks that he _can_ kill you! It means that even you are susceptible to death, you dumbass! Pull your head out of your ass and open your damn eyes!" He panted heavily as though he had ran a marathon. Then again, he had spoken a million words a minute, so Arthur didn't blame him. A heavy cloud weighed in the Briton's heart as he realised the meaning behind Romano's words. Arthur collapsed back into his chair and buried his head into his hands.

"You're right," Arthur admitted. "My mother—a soldier of the Heavens—died after giving birth to me. My father probably died, too, and nobody knows the reason why. He just up and disappeared one day and left me with this throne. You're right; I'm not _truly_ immortal. I can't promise that I'll get out of this alive. I don't even know how that seal on the Gate could defy my authority... The only other explanation I could consider is that there has been intervention from the Heavens—or, rather, the Emperor of the Heavens."

Romano calmed himself as bewilderment took over his features. "What does that mean?" he asked Arthur quietly. The Briton returned his question with a wry smile and shook his head. He didn't know either, but he couldn't bring himself to utter such words. He was the King, after all, and it was his duty to protect his people and this entire realm. Instead, he stretched out his arms and brought Romano into his body with a crushing embrace, wrapping his arms around the middle of Romano's body. He could feel Romano's fingers run through his hair and sighed deliriously. If only it could just be the two of them in the world, then he wouldn't have to worry about anything else in the entire universe.

"I love you, Romano," Arthur whispered softly, burying his face into the fabric of the Italian's shirt, preventing the brunet from seeing his red cheeks and embarrassed visage. "I don't want to lose you."

"That's why you're going to protect me," Romano responded honestly with a gentle tremor of embarrassment in his own voice. Arthur smiled. "You'll protect me, so let me go with you. I... I don't want to be by myself; I want to be with you."

"Do you know how to ride a horse?" the blond asked curiously. Looking into Romano's visage, he chuckled at the perplexed expression conquering his exotic features. "I can't have you go on foot. I suppose we'll have to ride together." Arthur stood up, keeping his arms around Romano's waist before pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. He stared into those wide hazel eyes and into the blue flames flickering in Romano's eyes. There were traces of apprehension and fear, but still he held out. The fire glowed vibrantly with sheer bravery and courage, and Arthur caved into Romano's wishes so easily, crumbling his defences almost entirely.

He pulled on Romano's hand and led him gently to the stables to meet with the pair of horses that had escorted them to the palace the other day. Without relinquishing his hold on Romano's hand, Arthur stretched a single hand towards one of the two white horses, stroking her snout affectionately. "This is Llamrei," Arthur introduced her Romano, "my mare." He shifted his attention to another horse and added, "This is Hengroen, my stallion. The two of them followed me to the Underworld from my time as Arthur Pendragon. We'll be riding Hengroen to my uncle's residence in the forest. I need to investigate something."

"Is it all right not to let anyone know?" Romano questioned sceptically.

"They'll try to quarantine me if I did," Arthur answered blatantly as he led the stallion from the stall and began to saddle him expertly.

"I can understand why," Romano griped, making the Briton laugh. Upon hearing Arthur's laughter, however, Romano flushed, a tad bit flustered, before turning away with embarrassment. He took to stroking Llamrei gently, amazed at the soft fibres of her mane and hair. "I've never been around a horse before."

"Well, I don't imagine people hitching a ride to the supermarket on one while we're still in the twenty-first century," Arthur teased, making Romano pout childishly while his cheeks reddened even further. "All right, let's get going," the blond announced as he placed a ramp in front of the stallion for Romano's and his steed's benefit. Then he stretched out a hand to Romano in a princely manner, smiling, and chirped, "I'll help you up." Romano took his hand cautiously and carefully while Arthur made sure that Hengroen remained steady. "Stand at the side and place your forward foot—ah, no, not that one, the one closest to his head, luv—okay, good—in the stirrup and grab onto the front of the saddle. Step up like you're walking upstairs and then swing your leg over the other side, and make sure not to bump or kick him." Once Romano was situated perfectly in the saddle, Arthur smiled and joined his lover, taking the stirrups and the reins, flushing with embarrassment as Romano grasped hold around his waist once he kicked off. His body noticeably stiffened, and he attempted to relax and calm himself at their sudden proximity.

It would be a long ride.

The forest path was damp with mud and laden with gravel and pebbles. The dense vegetation made it difficult for any light in this world that lacked light to travel through the multitudes and layers of leaves hovering over their heads. Lovino squirmed uncomfortably as he tightened his hold around Arthur, making the Briton tense once more even though he had just gotten adjusted to their position. Lovino sighed audibly, not even bothering to hide the mild frustration building up his temper, before taking it upon himself to relax the daemon. "Hey, can I ask you something?" the Italian inquired, resting his cheek against Arthur's back as his eyes shifted from tree to tree to rock to bush and repeat. He could barely distinguish the faint outlines of the scenery passing by them, and he knew it was probably a bad idea to relax even though something could possibly charge at them in any given moment. Still, he felt safe around Arthur. It can't be helped, he thought as he inhaled the Briton's scent—traces of rum and tea mixed with fresh herbs and red roses along with something uniquely Arthur.

"You just did," Arthur responded light-heartedly—or, rather, an attempt to sound light-heartedly.

"Bastard, I'm serious," Lovino snapped, breathing in more of the daemon's aromatic smell.

"Then fire away," the blond replied warmly.

"Why do you call me 'Romano'?" Lovino questioned immediately with nothing but pure curiosity. "I remember you saying something about it being the name of my soul?"

Arthur hummed, the noise buzzing in Lovino's ears, vibrating sensually, as he contemplated on how to give his answer. In the meanwhile, the Italian closed his eyes. It sounded somewhat like a purr, but not quite, he mused. It was kind of sexy. He listened to Arthur's calming voice as the Briton replied, relaxing simultaneously, "Every soul has a name that remains consistent throughout its lifetime no matter how many times it is reborn. That's why it's called a true name. It's kind of like a tracking device for the Otherside. Normally, when a person is reborn, the name they are given match with their soul, but there are exceptions—like you."

"Does that mean anything?" Lovino inquired dubiously.

"Not really," Arthur responded shortly. "Only that the person might undergo some kind of identity crisis as they mature. Nothing out of the ordinary."

Lovino snorted, opening his eyes half-heartedly, keeping them half-lidded, as he griped, "You're such a bastard. That's normal? Identity crisis? You make me sound like a damn teenager."

"Well, you're not quite an adult yet," Arthur teased, his voice growing more and more playful, "but you've showed me that you can be quite mature last night."

At that, Lovino pushed himself off Arthur in surprise, eyes wide with shock and cheeks red with fluster, as he spluttered in embarrassment, "Y-Y-You're bringing t-t-_that_ up now?!"

"I can't forget it," Arthur confessed sheepishly. "You were wonderful; you _are_ wonderful—absolutely brilliant. I wouldn't want anyone else."

"Just for the sex?" Lovino grumbled childishly, heart aching at the prospect.

"Not only for the sex," Arthur protested, his voice growing tender and kinder, "but also for everything there is about you. You're not afraid to argue with me even though I hold your fate in my hands. It's cute." His response didn't help ease the redness on Lovino's cheeks, increasing the intensity by tenfold. Lovino buried his face into Arthur's back as he attempted to calm his pounding heart. "Romano," Arthur addressed him suddenly in a stern voice, "don't move. Don't get off Hengroen, understand? Stay quiet." Without heeding any of Lovino's silent questions, Arthur stepped off the horse, the mud staining his white boots, as he led the stallion by the reins. The gallop quieted, and Lovino could feel his breath shortening with trepidation.

Suddenly, they were enveloped in a dome of darkness, and Arthur tightened his hold on the reins. Lovino could hear the leather of Arthur's glove squeak in the silence as fear overpowered his courage, taking possession of his heart. Instinctively, he reached out for Arthur, and upon sensing this, Arthur released his hold on the reins to grasp Lovino's hand. "Take the reins," Arthur instructed Lovino, "and when I tell you to do so, get out of here." Lovino's eyes widened, and he nearly parted his lips to argue before he met with Arthur's fierce glare. "I mean it, Romano." In his hands materialised a silver dagger sheathed in a small scabbard that he thrust into Lovino's hands. "Take this as well. Hide it immediately but in a place where you can easily wield it. Do not disobey me, Romano, do you under—?"

"It looks like I have visitors," mused a middle-aged man with a short stature and broad shoulders, cutting off Arthur's question. Immediately, Lovino hid the weapon, sliding it into his pocket as discreetly as possible. The newcomer's hair was unlike the bright shades of the Kirkland family and seemed to swallow any colour, refusing to transmit any trace of light, an inky black that matched the hollow colour of his deranged eyes. His skin was a sickly light grey, and the corners of his lips were turned upwards in a taunting grin. He donned a cloak that was probably hiding more secrets than one. "I was wondering when you would come, Nephew."

"Uncle," Arthur greeted stiffly. "Would you mind explaining a few things?"

"Aren't you a little too old to ask for my help on homework?" Patrick joked dryly. The smug grin on his lips had yet to slip from its place. "I'll humour you if that's want you want, but I can't guarantee that I will give you the correct answers."

"That's fine," Arthur responded dryly. "I just want some answers—any answer. I'll decide if they're the correct ones or not. To start, what have you done to the Gate? It is sealed, but how?"

"Dearest Arthur," he answered amusedly, "you should have known by now that the only one who can override your authority is the Emperor of the Heavens. It is his doing."

"But why?"

Patrick sighed. "I do not understand the Heavens any better than you do," he remarked brusquely before grinning, "but they must smile upon me—ironically—for they have aided me in my ventures." He pulled a sword from the air, a plain weapon that paled in comparison to what Lovino has seen Alistair and Arthur use though it was incredible in length, reaching heights taller than both the wielder and his opponent, and pointed it at Arthur. "It's no secret, you know, that I've been aiming for the throne ever since my brother-in-law's death, and then you came along and won everyone's dead little hearts over."

"What's your point?" Arthur seethed, inching closer to Lovino and Hengroen.

"You knew all along that I was going for your handsome little head," Patrick continued.

"I did, and what of it?"

"Nephew," Patrick paused to sigh, the grin on his lips faltering, "today is the day that you will descend from your throne." Again, he resumed his grin, the dark emotions more prevalent than ever before, and mused, "I shall be taking the crown for myself. I have lured you here, Nephew, for this purpose. It took me centuries to build a connection to you, and I have achieved it through a bridge named Romulus Vargas. The destruction of his estate raised questions regarding your whereabouts, which led you back to the Underworld. I've trapped you here for a purpose, and it is for this. Your good nature is not fit to rule the Underworld, Nephew, so let me relieve you of this suffering. I'll save you."

"Do you think that you can beat me? That you can best me at swordplay?" Arthur retorted, stalling for time as he backed from his uncle and closer to his steed.

"Not through fairness," Patrick confessed with a wry smirk, "but we are demons. Fairness has little meaning to us, does it now? Well, you hardly know, Nephew, since you are the definition of fairness and justice. Your good will astounds me."

Arthur gritted his teeth before smacking Hengroen's rear. "Go!" he exclaimed, flinging a ball of blue flames to the wall of black fire. The blue flames lapped at the black, creating an opening for a split second, and upon receiving his master's orders and upon sighting the exit, Hengroen pivoted on its hind legs, suspending in the air before taking off in the direction of opening. As though he had been suspecting this, Patrick countered by setting another wall to prevent Hengroen and Lovino's escape. Arthur scowled in disdain, attempting to halt Patrick's progress by summoning more flames with a snap of his fingers, encircling Patrick by a ring of blue. Undeterred, Patrick stepped past the ring of flames protected by his own. A few managed to penetrate his barrier and singe his clothing, but the dark haired Kirkland was not nearly as fazed as he ought to be.

"I wonder," Patrick mused before seemingly teleporting to Lovino's place when, in truth, he had dashed faster than the speed of light, "who this boy is, Nephew. Is he so important that you must save him? He is but a human, Nephew." Lovino froze, terrified, as Patrick reached for him and held him in place. "Oh, I see, Nephew. His flame is blue—such a rare colour in all living creatures—you're quite the collector, Nephew—but its colour is just like... Why! Just like yours! The colour of purity! It is a perfect match, Nephew! Magnificent!" Patrick grinned malevolently. "Do you know, lad?" he addressed a question to Lovino. "When two souls match in colour and intensity, it means that they are _soul mates_? Cute, isn't it? I'll bet my money that Arthur hasn't told you; he's such a timid little child—shy, meek, and somewhat awkward and dishonest. You can tell his is a blue flame, you know? The brightest of them all, in fact! Did you know that when a demon is born, the soul flames that have been cultivated within the womb extinguish and change to a life essence that a demon can use in battle? Life essence, you see, reflects a demon's would-be soul—how intensely it shines and how sinful it is! The darkest flame—the blackest flames—are wielded by _the_ sinners of sinners, the Seven Demon Princes of the Underworld, but Arthur is different. His is a pure blue just like yours. Oh, by the look on your face, he _hasn't_ told you! This is wonderful news, yes!" He pulled open his cloak, revealing a lantern holding a white flame. "It means I can trade one hostage for another and devour this soul instead. Laddie, do you recognise this flame?" He unfastened the lantern from his belt and held it to Lovino's eyes in plain sight. Staring into the white fire, Lovino heard a faint voice.

_Fratello!_

"Why, yes, it's your brother."

"Patrick!" Arthur roared, sending a wave of flames in their direction. Hengroen paced back while Patrick barely managed to escape the line of fire. The blue flames charred the ground, but Patrick was still undaunted. "Step away from him."

"Oh my," Patrick mused, "it looks as though you truly are taken with him. It was foolish to bring him along, but—I admit—it would have been even more dangerous to have left him in the castle. Lucifer would have him frozen to stone."

"Lucifer?" Arthur repeated sceptically.

"Ah, yes, I've sent him to preoccupy the palace," Patrick explained, "and to call you here to me." The Duke opened the side door of the lantern's body with his left hand and held the white flame near his lips to be devoured. Lovino could hear it cry louder and louder, _Fratello! Fratello! Please help me, Fratello! _as tears formed in his eyes. Dammit! How was he this useless?!

A spherical flame of blue burned Patrick's hand, causing him to hiss in pain and release the white flame. Immediately, the white flame took to the atmosphere, burning its way through the black flames, vanquishing from sight. Patrick narrowed his eyes at his nephew, whose fingertips were glowing with blue flames.

"Why don't you try that again?" Arthur dared vehemently. "Maybe your entire hand will be severed from the rest of your body."

"Be that as it might," Patrick returned with a wry smile, "but you are surrounded by my sinner's pride." The raven haired Kirkland gestured around them, his smile growing more and more manic and maniac within mere moments. "It could engulf you any moment, Nephew, and burn you to ashes if you're a split second too slow to defend yourself—or your soul mate here." As Arthur grounded his teeth, clenching his jaw and curling his fingers into tightly packed fists, Patrick chuckled and mused, "I do wonder how you'll get out of this one, Nephew. Strong though you might be, your father is still stronger than you even beyond the grave. You cannot best his legend, King Arthur Pendragon of Camelot—or was it Britannia? Well, it matters little since you are now merely Arthur Kirkland—no legend at all. Just a substitute king occupying a throne that does not belong to you. It will _never_ belong to you. You are more of a puppet than the humans that I've controlled beyond the Surface World!"


	10. Chapter 9

**IX: Hades**

"I am quite nervous!" she remembered him exclaiming with a weak smile. His dark eyes had shimmered from the glare of the sun as it peaked beyond the horizon beyond the Irish shores. Their legs had been suspended over the edge of green cliffs overlooking the mirrored hues of the skies in the ocean waters. He had reached for her hand then, and she remembered how perfectly their fingers had entwined together. His weak smile had faltered some into a fondness reserved only for her eyes to see. "To meet the King of the Realm and to ask for his—his _blessings_, I suppose, though the term is an oddity for one of the darkness to use, if not his approval—for our marriage. Marriage is rare in the Underworld, after all, since soul mates and lovers would already live and remain together for eternity. It might purely be human—marriage—but it has a very powerful connotation, does it not?"

"Aye," she had agreed with him wholeheartedly since her heart had belonged—still belonged, really—to him and him only, "that it does, for marriage is a uniting factor between soul mates and lovers, is it not? I wish to be pledged to thee—with or without my brother's blessing or his consent."

"Here I was—nearly forgetting the matter with thy brother!" he had cried with panic quite evident in his voice. "It unnerves me so—to have a private audience with the King!"

"My love, thou hast naught about which to worry!" she had assured him.

"And why is that so?"

"Dost thou not know?" she had responded with a bright smile. "My brother is not as cruel as in the legends. Aye, he may be associated with evil, but he is a good man. For though he is King of the Underworld, he is quite passive and fair in his judgements. Strangely enough, in spite of his title, he is actually very altruistic!"

"Is that so! Then may he smile upon us, me and my beloved!"

They had shared a kiss underneath the sun, the clear blue skies reflected within the brilliant blue of the ocean waters, and swore themselves to each other then—no matter what happened.

Now Bridget Kirkland, beautiful Bridget Kirkland, wondered when everything had gone astray.

She recalled vaguely meeting a cambion mage, a sorcerer named Merlin, who had been sent to the Surface World by her Brother King to search for his third son—then the youngest child and prince—after the death of his lover, a fallen angel from the Heavens, who had earned herself the fascination and intrigue of the Underworld residents. All that while, his own lawfully wedded queen had abandoned him and his fruitless love.

Then one day Merlin had succeeded in his seemingly futile quest, reporting to her Brother King of a twelve year old boy by the name of Arthur. At first he had seemed entirely human; she could still see the soul in his body—a brilliant blue like the ocean she had admired with her lover some time long ago. She could still recount his appearance from way back then—a small structure with thin and frail shoulders, his tousled blond locks like golden strands of sunlight, his pudgy cheeks and pouty lips, and his ragged clothing—and she recalled wondering what her brother was thinking, making this brat the next king and his successor. Little did she know that her husband—in that point of time back then, her fiancé—had thought the same way then... only much more bitterly and much more maliciously.

She and her fiancé along with the majority of the Underworld had proposed to put young Arthur to the test, challenging the order of her Brother King. The Heavens had regulated this examination, proposing that, if Arthur was to fail in his kingship, he would remain on Earth, living life as a regular human until his "death," when he would then replace his mother as a celestial soldier for the Emperor of the Heavens. With the stakes raised, the King of the Underworld truly could not resist such a challenge. To ensure that the third prince would realise his potential, the King had ordered Merlin to remain with Arthur and to teach him all that he needs to know. A history was fabricated, and a kingdom was erected on an island nation—Britannia, they called it, and Arthur was its angel. Defying her and her fiancé's expectations, Arthur had unknowingly rose to his father's high hopes, and the Kingdom of Camelot prospered at the core of his growing empire as his reign as boy king.

Needless to say, Patrick was immensely displeased with the results, but it was when Merlin had fetched him from the Realm of the Living and brought him to the Underworld when her husband had began to act strangely. With the magic the Heavens had cast upon him dispelled, Arthur had been reverted from his early twenties back to the twelve year old boy she had first seen—no longer a human, not quite a demon or an angel, but entirely a daemon. There were only minor differences in his appearance—the pointed ears that picked up the faintest of whispers, the small fang-like incisors that tore into tender flesh, the feline eyes that served to filter light for a nocturnal hunter, and the loss of a human soul the Heavens had managed to preserve on the Surface World—but his demeanour was still that of a young man.

It was unsettling to see a maturing young man in the body of a child, and she could see well that it had unnerved her fiancé as much as it did herself during the days of his second childhood. However, she never knew how much hate and disgust her own fiancé had harboured towards her nephew. He was already a changing man, and she knew that already. Even now, as her husband, he was changing, and she couldn't stop him... could she?

"Mum?" Jett called to her tentatively. "Is something the matter?"

She gave her son a wry smile.

"Not at all, darling."

* * *

"What the hell?" Gilbert gasped the moment they've reached the breached area. Everyone halted behind him and gaped at the massive damage inflicted there. Nearly an entire wall was obliterated, exposing the interior of the ground floor to outsiders, and debris and rubble were scattered about the area randomly and haphazardly. Demons and incubi and revenants and vampires enlisted within the military were either petrified or halfway there, gradually turning into stone, unable to defend the palace in their dismal states. Gilbert turned to a boy whose legs were now solidified within rock and asked of him, "What the hell happened here?"

"L-Lord Beilschmidt," he rasped, clutching onto the fabric of Gilbert's Prussian blue military jacket and pulled the werewolf closer. "I-It's L-Lucifer! T-There is no rebel army—not _here_!" Stone crawled up his torso the more he spoke, and the boy panicked. "This is a decoy!" he exclaimed, growing more and more confident, as his eyes brightened with tears. "You must protect His Majesty King Arthur!" His tongue had been encased at his point, rendering him incapable of any more warnings, and his flesh now hardened. His heart ceased beating, and his fingers hooked into the fabric of Gilbert's coat. The albino werewolf apologised as he attempted to pry free the material caught on the stone fingers while trying not to break them. If there was a way to reverse petrification magic, the boy would appreciate having all of his fingers afterwards.

"Where's Arthur?" Gilbert muttered under his breath, glancing at the castle. There were only four of them, and if they were dealing with Lucifer, Gilbert would need all of his party members. He couldn't expend one of them to inform Arthur of the imminent threat to his realm, or... could he? "Roderich!" the albino barked immediately. That's right! Roderich wasn't much of a fighter anyway, so he could send Roderich to warn Arthur of what they've learnt. "Go look for Arthur and tell him about this!" The brunet nodded once before scrambling back into the castle.

At the same time, a heavy tremor shook the ground once as a giant cockatrice fell from the skies. A deviant smirk stretched across Gilbert's pale lips as he crowed, "I've been waiting for this, you overgrown chicken! Like hell I'm going to let a fowl get the better of its predator—even if it is some freakish descendant of a damn dinosaur!" Immediately, he pivoted on his heel while simultaneously morphing into his wolf form. "Let's see whose eyes are more dangerous!" he howled as he leapt towards the cockatrice, baring his fangs and snarling. He sunk his teeth into its flesh, making it squawk with miserable agony, as his remaining pack members did the same. When he was thrown off the beast, someone caught him in their arms.

He snapped his head and found Mathias grinning at him sheepishly, donning his hunting garb and battleaxe. Behind Mathias, he caught sight of Berwald wielding a bladed lance and Emil with a short sword. Tino had climbed up the debris, handling a long bow with a quiver of arrows on his back. "Alistair and I were handling central command to take care of the rebel army in town until Seamus came along and reported that he spotted Lucifer circling the palace. I figured that Alistair could take care of the dissenters himself. Even if four percent of the general population was weary of Arthur's rule, not all of them follow or support Patrick; there's no way that even half of them would rise against Arthur. It'll be easy to quell that rebellion in town, but Lucifer... I thought you might need a helping hand with only you, Elizaveta, and Ludwig around. Roderich went to go find Arthur, yeah?"

"Right... But what the hell is Patrick up to?" Gilbert growled even though Mathias couldn't understand him in this form. Still, he nodded his head to answer Mathias' question.

As though answering his unspoken question, a ginger haired woman stepped past the debris, accompanied by Jett and James Kirkland, and informed the two parties, "My husband has become delusional and impatient. He cannot wait to gain the throne, so he decided to take action himself. If the populous does not take to him, then they will warm to him, or so he thinks. If they never grow to love him as they did to my brother, then... all shall perish. My husband is more prideful than even I am." She smiled wryly. "And I'm the bloody Duchess of Vanity. There shouldn't be anyone more prideful than me; I _am_ the fairest of them all!"

"Bridget Kirkland," Mathias addressed her, "what are you doing here?"

"To claim what belongs to me," the Duchess responded haughtily, crinkling her nose in mid-air, as she looked down on Mathias despite the giant being nearly twice her size. "That cockatrice, Lucifer, was a gift from my brother to me—a wedding gift, so to speak—but it seems to have forgotten to whom it belongs. My husband has acted in my place in the Demon Court, after all, and has replaced me in the Council. However, we no longer exist in the Medieval times in which society is strictly patriarchal. I have no need for a husband who does not love me; therefore, I will change with the times." She smiled through the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes. Everyone could see it. Even though her husband did not love her now, he did love her once upon a time, and she loved him still. "I am a Kirkland, after all, by blood. He only by name, and he stains and taints it." Raising her hands, black fire began to collect around her. "Do me a favour, my lords, and control Lucifer until I can finally bring him under my control. My husband is undeserving of such a powerful creature."

* * *

Exhaustion.

They all could feel it; they all could feel that they were all growing weak. Mage after mage collapsed to his or her knees behind the leading trio. Owain clenched his jaw as he felt more and more power being sapped from him despite being the Second Prince. His head throbbed and ached, pounding with agonising pain, as he endeavoured to keep his consciousness. Beside him, Lukas and Vladimir were silently suffering as well. Beads of sweat dripped from their foreheads as their jaws were noticeably tensed.

"So this is the power of the Emperor of the Heavens," Owain whispered underneath his breath. Just a little longer, and they'll have it broken. His father has defied the Heavens once, and they could do it again! They were strong as well; otherwise, balance between the realms couldn't be maintained if they were weak!

_Click!_

Like the sound of a key undoing a lock, the sound echoed within Owain's mind, resonating and reverberating over and over again. His green eyes widened as he himself collapsed onto his posterior, overwhelmed by the red and brown flames that have been pent up pouring into the Underworld, making their way to the wellspring of eternal torture and suffering known as Hell located in the town square, leading directly to another dimension within the Underworld, guided instinctively and automatically to the flow of chaos. A relieved laugh escaped his lips, dancing from the back of his throat, growing from a low chuckle to boisterous laughter. The mages behind him were taken aback by his sudden outburst before joining their usually indifferent, sloven prince with their own cheers of relief. Lukas and Vladimir exchanged tired, exhausted smiles before lying on their back, too weak to bother sitting or standing. The three sorcerers caught sight of a single white flame flying past the Gate and back into the realm of the living, the Surface World. Owain smiled at the sight.

That was the flame of which Seamus had spoken, he thought to himself. That means, he realised gravely, that Arthur must have confronted Uncle Patrick. Owain knew—he just knew—that he ought to inform Alistair of his discovery, but he was tired, exhausted, and worn. Closing his eyes momentarily, he decided it would be best to just take a nap right now, right then. It might be unbecoming of a prince, but—hey—he was the Prince of Sloth for a reason.

On the other side of the Gate, Kiku fell forward, palms flat on the ground, as he attempted to catch his breath. "Finally," he exhaled sharply, raising his eyes to the open Gate in front of them. "Finally," he repeated. Angelique rested on his lap, exhausted, while Alfred and Matthew were curled underneath one of his nine tails. Jia Long and Neeraja each leaned against his sides. Behind them were miscellaneous mages that Francis had recruited for them, too exhausted to pick themselves from the ground and return to whence they've came. With everyone worn and weary, Kiku didn't know how long he could keep the barrier up to prevent a human visiting their deceased loved one from spotting a fox spirit with five children spirits and an army of magic users, but Kiku decided with a smile that he ought to try at the very least. A white flame soared through the sky in the direction of his master's manor. "Ah," he gasped.

Feliciano Vargas.

Amber eyes fluttered open to an unfamiliar white ceiling. His head turned to the side and found an unoccupied twin bed across the room. He wondered, momentarily, where he was. This certainly was not the Vargas estate, yet he didn't feel threatened here. There was a homely feel to this place. Gradually, he sat upright and observed his surroundings. A single window, a bedside table between the two beds, a wooden floor, a single closet and only one dresser, and a door left ajar.

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he tumbled out of the room and glanced about the hallway before spotting a staircase leading downstairs. Hand against the wall, he began his trek towards the stairs before grasping as tightly onto the railing before beginning his descent. He had no confidence in his strength right now; it felt as though he had been sleeping forever but, at the same time, as though he had just traversed the entire globe. He felt weak but, at the same time, rejuvenated. It was an odd sensation, he mused the moment he reached the bottom of the steps. His eyes studied his surroundings once more and noted the area as a living room of sorts with old vintage furniture before spotting an opening out of which a delicious smell journeyed into his nose, wafting about the house.

He crept into the new-found area and discovered Antonio cooking at a stove. His footsteps, though light, alerted his cousin of his presence.

"Feli!" the Spaniard exclaimed in surprise as soon as his eyes fell upon the thin Italian boy. Antonio smiled gently, relief flooding his eyes, as he gestured for Feliciano to take a seat at the dining table. "Sit, sit!" he cried in rusty Italian. "I've made some _paella_! I'll get you a plate right away!"

"Antonio," Feliciano whined in Italian, "where are we?"

"Right now we are at my friend's manor in Rome," Antonio informed sincerely as he set a steaming plate of paella in front of his younger cousin—no more than sixteen years old, he thought glumly, but he's been through so much—with a set of silverware. He then served Feliciano a glass of water and added, "We've gotten you away from the bad people, Feli," upon seeing momentary panic flash across the boy's visage.

"Where's _Fratello_?" Feliciano asked softly.

"He's... Right now he's making sure that the bad people stay away," Antonio replied reluctantly. Fortunately, Feliciano hadn't caught onto his hesitation and was already digging into the plate of food that he was served. "He was very worried about you; he couldn't stop worrying."

Feliciano giggled and chirped, "That sounds just like _Fratello_!"

"How much do you remember, Feliciano?" Antonio asked gravely.

The Italian stopped eating for a moment and thought before answering, "I remember some of _Nonno_'s men coming to take me from _Fratello_, but that's it. I... I feel like there's been more."

"There has been a lot, Feliciano," Antonio muttered under his breath.

"Antonio, did you say something?"

"Not at all, Feli. How do you like the _paella_?"

* * *

The sound of metal banging against metal, clashing and clanging and clinking and scraping each other, echoed in Lovino's ears like earth-shattering thunder. It boomed and roared, scaring a child underneath the covers of his bed just as Lovino clutched tightly onto Hengroen's reins as though the stallion could protect him. His hazel eyes flitted about the concealed dome as Arthur and his uncle battled for dominance with their swords—Arthur with his cutlass and Patrick with his longsword—engrossed in only their opponent. Occasionally, a stream of darkness would flicker from Patrick's hand, and Arthur would counter with his own brilliant blue.

Arthur blocked Patrick's blade from slashing his torso and pressed forward with his weight against his cutlass to break the deadlock. He jerked his head back when Patrick's sword slid up his sabre and attempted to sever his head from the rest of his body, stumbling back a few paces. Immediately, he twisted his wrist to defend against yet another strike, realising that he was being forced into the defensive position. Grounding his teeth, Arthur dodged yet another attack and lunged forward to strike his uncle in the side—not having the heart to injure him in the vitals—but Patrick, sensing his kind heart, barricaded against the attack and whipped his sword against Arthur's neck. Had he been a second slower, the King of the Underworld would have been bleeding on the ground.

Arthur sidestepped another attempt at his heart and parried the attack, slicing his uncle across the chest with a diagonal blow. Patrick hissed with pain before trying—in vain—to return the favour. Arthur rolled to the side and whirled around immediately to slash yet again at Patrick. He stopped upon sighting Patrick pressing the flat of his blade against his beloved Romano's neck. The dark haired demon had taken advantage of the second Arthur used to recover from evading one of Patrick's attacks to rush to Romano's side and pull him off the unsuspecting stallion. Tears of fear and frustration threatened to roll from the brims of Romano's beautiful eyes and down his angered cheeks. Arthur knew that glare in his eyes; Romano loathed his predicament.

"I said it once before," Patrick reminded, "that demons don't have to play fair, Nephew. The sooner you learn this, the better it would be for everyone—including your soul mate. Of course, you don't have much longer to live, do you? Not on my watch, at least. Now drop your sabre."

"Let go of Romano."

"Drop your sabre, Arthur!" Patrick demanded in a deafening screech. "Do as I say!" To emphasise his point, he further pressed the flat of his blade against the boy's olive flesh, and the Italian dared not to breathe lest he cut his own throat. The fury glowering in his hazel eyes faded into fear and terror and horror, yet his heart plummeted as Arthur released the hold on his cutlass. Excalibur faded into particles of light. "Good boy," Patrick praised, removing his sword and dropping Lovino onto the ground. The Italian fell onto his knees, grunting at the impact, as tears of shame began to drip from his eyes. Dammit, he cursed, damn it all! How useless could he be?! Patrick kicked Lovino aside and began to approach Arthur slowly, step by step, twirling his sword in his hand before pointing it at Arthur's neck. "Your life is mine to take, Nephew."

"Then take it as you will, but don't touch Romano."

Lovino's eyes widened, and he shrieked as the black flames that had trapped them began to devour Arthur's body, engulfing him within the darkness. "No, no, no, no!" he cried, the tears flowing from his eyes freely. "Arthur! _Arthur_!" Don't leave me! Lovino pleaded silently. Don't go! Don't die! The black flames then dispersed, overwhelmed by a burst of brilliant blue, revealing a smirking Arthur despite the fact that his clothes were partially charred.

"Is that all you've got, Uncle?" Arthur retorted smoothly. Within the blink of an eye, he called Excalibur to his hand, flashing in front of Patrick and quickly pressing his cutlass against his uncle's throat. Patrick, too, was quick to react and simultaneously shifted his sword to press against Arthur's throat. "I thought of you as family as often as I could. I thought that if I could save you, Aunt Bridget would no longer have to cry over her dying husband. I didn't want to kill you, Uncle."

"You are a fool, Arthur," Patrick returned. "You and Bridget are fools."

Weary of the other, their swords clashed once more, and their macabre dance resumed before Patrick managed to overpower Arthur by knocking his sabre out of the blond's hand with a twist of luck. The raven haired demon took advantage of the situation to impale Arthur's stomach, and the blond's hiss of pain was overwhelmed by Lovino's scream of horror. Patrick deftly withdrew his blade and splattered the royal blood onto the ground, leaving his nephew to bleed to death, as he marched to Lovino.

"Humans are not meant to be in the Underworld," Patrick told him as he stood in front of the Italian. Lovino reached into his pocket, clutching tightly onto the dagger Arthur had given him. He wasn't sure how exactly it could best a longsword, but he would try... He had to try—even against a demon. "It was a mistake to come here. Now you can't leave without Arthur, but, relax, I'll send you to Heaven, where you truly belong. It's a shame the two of you can't be reunited. Demons don't have souls, after all, and cannot be reborn."

The traitor raised his sword and prepared to plunge it into Lovino's heart.

* * *

Blood poured from Lucifer's open wounds from the injuries he had sustained throughout the battle. Gilbert shifted back into his humanoid form, retaining the white ears and bushy tail, in his weakened state and spat out the foul blood in his mouth, wiping his lips and staining them with dark blood. He had just torn into the cockatrice's flesh and lacerated another wound into its neck. Following his example, Elizaveta transformed back into a hybrid between wolf and human, her nails stained with Lucifer's blood, and asked him, "Tired already?"

"I hate roosters," Gilbert growled. "They're too damn stubborn, and this one is overgrown to boot. It's so not awesome."

Ludwig changed back into the form of a humanoid creature as well, joining the two other werewolves, before eyeing the flailing cockatrice attempting to take to the air. Mathias and Berwald had each incapacitated a wing, however, with their battleaxe and spear respectively, covered by Tino's volley of arrows, so Lucifer could no longer take flight in current circumstances. "Just a little longer, _Bruder_," Ludwig assured tiredly as he struggled to keep himself conscious. He had exerted quite a bit of strength for a young werewolf, after all.

"You fall back, Lutz," Gilbert commanded as he pushed his younger brother in the direction of Emil, who was treating Berwald's and Mathias' wounds, stitching together the injuries—a fallen arm or a lost finger that they could hardly even feel missing—until someone could fully manipulate their dead cells into multiplying and dividing to heal their wounds. It was the curse of being a reanimated corpse, and Gilbert was glad that he had managed to escape that sort of fate. He remembered the first time he had seen Mathias' head severed from the rest of his body—and still blabbering while his body was moving about searching for his cranium!—after a sword fighting incident with Arthur and the other lords. "Take it easy. Lizbet and I can hold out for a little longer, then we'll switch off with you and the Vikings."

"No need," the Duchess stated from behind the battling parties. Black flames coiled around her in a serpentine manner before shooting towards the cockatrice like wiry chains binding the creature to the ground and forcing it down. The black fires swallowed it wholly before dissipating into the air, leaving no remains of the cockatrice. "I've forced him back to his nest to recover—this time, under _my_ command. Patrick will no longer need him since he is no longer my husband and, thereby, no longer a Duke." She smiled at her sons who both returned her smile weakly. "I'm sorry, lads, but it has to be done."

"We're not disagreeing," Jett pointed out good-naturedly with a gentle smile. A trace of grief and despair lingered in his eyes, but he made no further comment.

"Hey, nice one," Alistair greeted the party as he and Seamus carried Owain, whose arms were thrown over their shoulders. Behind them followed Lukas and Vladimir, who were supporting each other. He grinned wryly at Bridget and mused, "Welcome back to the family." Seamus didn't say anything but simply averted his eyes elsewhere, directing his attention to anything but his redeemed aunt. "This lazy sod has something to say here." He nudged Owain in the ribs with his elbow, and the sorcerer winced, huffing in disdain.

"Feliciano Vargas' soul, the white flame that Seamus had spotted with Patrick, has returned to the Surface World," Owain announced calmly—though his voice was more slow and tired than collected and confident. "It means that, for one thing, the Gates are now open and, for another, Arthur has encountered Patrick somewhere."

"Definitely not in the palace," Roderich confirmed as he entered the scene. "I've taken the liberty to track him via witnesses and his scent. He's been to the stables and was riding Hengroen north. The Scribe and Lord Braginsky suspect that he is heading into the Northern Woods."

Bridget frowned. "We have a cottage there in the Northern Woods," she informed, confirming Yao and Ivan's suspicions and speculations. "It's been a while since it was used."

"The Northern Woods?" Mathias repeated. "It'll take us hours to get there on foot!"

"Then take a wyvern," Owain remarked as he raised his hand, summoning his red scaled familiar with a dragon's head and a reptilian body with two forelegs and a barbed tail. It stretched its vast wings, further darkening the land below it, as it landed on the ground. "Belphegor will take you there, but I can't guarantee he will take you back. I just want to get to sleep, so take me to my room, Alistair."

"Forget it," Alistair snapped. "You're coming with the rest of us—except for ye, Peter."

A little boy poked his head out of the shadows, pouting.

"You're much too young!" Alistair continued, calling for a maid to escort Peter to his chambers. In the meanwhile, Lukas and Vladimir would have to remain behind to take to undoing the petrification on the foot soldiers while Owain would help repair the injured Vikings on the way to Arthur's location in the Northern Woods. Lying flat on his stomach, Belphegor waited patiently for all of his passengers to board his back before taking flight.

They did not take to the scene that awaited them well.

* * *

"Arthur!" Lovino cried, his voice choking on his breath, as lukewarm tears streamed down his cheeks, stinging his eyes and scalding his flesh, as white feathers descended from the dark sky. The brunet clung onto the Briton from behind. Just seconds ago, Arthur had dashed to his side, sprouting wings and racing to cover Lovino, shielding him from any attacks, and while the King of the Underworld had managed to defend Lovino against his uncle's blade, he was a second too late in summoning Excalibur to his hand and instead took the blow to his shoulder, willingly lacerating his own flesh to defend his beloved, as he glared at his uncle with glowering emeralds, hardening into stones stronger than diamonds, sharpening into blades deadlier than a sword, igniting with a dangerous spark more overwhelming than the lightning that split the sky.

"I'm not going to die," Arthur vowed. Neither Lovino nor Patrick was sure to whom he was addressing. "I won't die; I can't. Not here. Not now. I'm not going to die." He grasped onto the blade with his right hand, seemingly unaffected by the fact that it cut through his gloves and into the flesh of his hand, and extracted it from his left shoulder single-handedly. His mousy blond locks were stained by a faint red tinge at the roots as he yanked Patrick's sword from his hand—the grip slackened from pure terror and appal—mortified of the devil with the wings of an angel in front of him. He buried the blade of the sword that had penetrated his flesh into the dirt ground, forcing it from Patrick's hand. "I refuse to die. Not like this. I won't let it happen." A sorrowful, miserable smile curved onto his lips—remorseful and guilty. "If I die and leave my soul mate alone, who's going to take care of him? I would hope that it's certainly not you, Uncle, with what you had attempted to do." Stretching out his uninjured left hand he summoned forth Excalibur and swung the cutlass across the air once in a downward motion, slicing the air, before pointing it at his uncle. "I'll be the one to save you, Patrick Brian Kirkland—nay, not Kirkland—_O'Connor_. I'll deliver you from your sinner's pride."

_Dost thou not know?_ Patrick recalled his wife telling him with a bitter smile. _My brother is not as cruel as in the legends. Aye, he may be associated with evil, but he is a good man. For though he is King of the Underworld, he is quite passive and fair in his judgements. Strangely enough, in spite of his title, he is actually very altruistic!_

"You are just like your father," Patrick mused the moment Excalibur pierced through his flesh, trapping him onto the legendary sword. "Grow up fine and strong, Arthur, my nephew, into a befitting king." Blue flames poured from Arthur's hands, travelling down Excalibur's hilt and down its blade, swallowing Patrick entirely. The older demon laughed bitterly, recalling how brilliant the ocean blue was the day of his proposal, as he realised he was drowning in the same brilliance. Just as soon as Arthur retracted his weapon, however, Patrick stretched out his hand one last time and, from it, shot an arrow of black flames puncturing Arthur's heart. "Ahh, but, even though you and I have both stated this before, I will say it again: I have a sinner's pride. I won't go down without a fight, my dearest nephew." No soul was released as Patrick's body disintegrated within Arthur's blue flames; a demon, after all, had no soul to save.

"Arthur!" Lovino shrieked, clamouring to his feet, scrambling to the fallen king's side as the white feathers dispersed, scattering by the winds like petals of white flowers or flakes of winter snow. "Arthur!" he cried. The tears rolling down his cheeks dripped off his chin like glass marbles, crashing onto Arthur's pale skin and shattering. Arthur turned his dying gaze to Lovino and smiled faintly. The emeralds were soft and dull, the dangerous red in his hair fading away to that beautiful mousy blond, and his smile was gentle and tender and kind and warm and adoring and affectionate and everything Lovino didn't ever want to let go. When Arthur stretched out a hand to cup the side of Lovino's face, the Italian grasped it immediately and squeezed tightly. "W-What did he do to you?"

"Tried to kill me is all, and he got a bloody good shot, too," Arthur answered weakly, wiping away Lovino's tears expertly with his thumb. "Bastard always had a sharp eye. At least he went first between the two of us. He can't do you any harm now, my lovely spitfire." His emeralds watered, reflecting Lovino's light like windows of green glass, as he mused aloud, "You're so beautiful, Lovino."

"Dammit, this isn't the time to get my name right!" Lovino snapped, unsure of what or at what to be angry and enraged and infuriated.

"Ah, that's right," Arthur acquiesced. "You can go home now. The Gate should be opened. I'll send for Gilbert and Mathias. With this, my contract to your grandfather should be fulfilled as well. You can live in peace now, darling. Smile."

"How can I?!" Lovino hissed. "You're _dying_, bastard! Do you understand what kind of situation you're in, dammit?!"

"I'm over the moon, actually," Arthur confessed sheepishly, rubbing Lovino's reddened cheeks with the pad of his thumb gingerly. "I've managed to protect you—just as I've promised. I love you, Lovino. I will always love you, my most beautiful spitfire."

"I don't even know if that's a compliment!" Lovino spluttered. "So stay with me! Explain everything I don't know to me! Be by my side forever and ever, got it?"

"Yes, of course," Arthur vowed with a wide smile, peeling his hand from Lovino's face and taking with it Lovino's hands. He pressed a gentle kiss onto the knuckles. "You have my word, my promise, my heart and soul—well, my essence, more like... You can have it all, Lovino. I'm a King, so you can have whatever you'd like. If you wish me to live, I'll live. If you wish me to live with you, then I'll do it; I'll stay by your side forever and ever."

"Then don't you dare close your eyes, bastard!" Lovino choked out, ignoring the burning sensation in his chest. It was painful, actually, like someone or something was engraving a mark over his heart with a thin but sharp blade or with a burning needle that was set aglow by a match flame. Still, it was nothing compared to what Arthur must be experiencing. Lovino couldn't imagine it; he couldn't fathom it.

"It's getting rather difficult to do that, luv..."

"Keep them open, dammit!"

"I'm trying, but... I'm actually quite tired."

"What the hell is going on here?!" Gilbert's voice barked from overhead.

Lovino turned his head upwards and found a red dragon soaring above the two of them. Arthur smiled weakly. "Looks like help is on the way," he observed before closing his eyes. "Everything... will be okay."

"Arthur!" Lovino exclaimed, startled.

"Just... Just resting, luv." Arthur smiled at him once more. "Remember... that everything will be okay... and to smile."

Gilbert and Mathias then leapt from the wyvern as they approached the ground, followed by their pack and family respectively as well as the rest of the Kirkland family—minus Peter. Gilbert immediately pried Lovino away from Arthur in spite of the boy's struggles and shoved him to Elizaveta and Ludwig while Mathias checked Arthur's vitals. "He's not doing so well," the revenant informed the others. He and his family began dressing his wounds with what they had brought with them from Emil's kit. "He's on the verge of death at this point. It looks like Patrick got to his heart with some black flames, and they've contaminated his body like poison."

Alistair whistled, the noise piercing the air, before the surface rippled and a fiery phoenix descended from above and perched on his shoulders. Borrowing the red flames from the legendary creature, Alistair knelt and ran a glowing hand over Arthur's wounds, sealing them shut. "I can't do much more; I'm the Prince of Wrath—not a healer," he grumbled bitterly. "We need to get him to a specialist immediately."

"What happened to Patrick?" Bridget asked as she stepped forward, kneeling in front of her nephew and running her fingers through his hair. Her eyes watered with tears of remorse and sorrow. "Oh, he looks just like his mother... I don't wish him her fate while he is still so young."

"Ashes," Seamus observed off to the side. He stood where Patrick was located previously, kicking scorched dirt. "It looks like Arthur has cremated him."

"What shall we do with the boy?" Owain addressed the others, glancing at Lovino, who was being restrained by the two werewolves.

"Arthur said that we ought to erase his memories the day we prepared to break into the Vargas estate, three days before we actually commenced the mission," Gilbert spoke from the side reluctantly. Lovino stared at him with wide hazel eyes filled with disbelief. Red eyes broke away from Lovino, guilt wrenching at his conscience, as he continued to speak as though explaining himself and his words, "He knows too much for someone who hasn't signed his name in the Black Book. If we do that, then he can return to normal, everyday life. Arthur said that he would do it himself."

Owain nodded in agreement before glancing to his brothers, cousins, and aunt for their agreement. Mathias was frowning and gave no response, only observing with conflict evident in his eyes. "I can do that in place of Arthur," the Second Prince informed the albino. "How far back do you want to go?"

"No!" Lovino cried, fear shadowing his heart, weighing it down. "No, don't do this!" he pleaded with his lover's older brother. "Please! Please no!"

"Before they've even met," Gilbert answered relentlessly and mercilessly, steeling his own resolve against Lovino's protests. "Before any of this ever happened. Before he knew of the existence of the Otherside. Before he met any of us. Everything and anything that has to do with everything he's not supposed to know, everything that's not supposed to happen to him, everything that has to do with us and with Arthur, erase it all. Make it so that—to him—we never existed... Arthur, especially. He doesn't need to remember Arthur; it's better that he forgets him."

"No, no, no, no!" Lovino struggled in vain as he attempted to wrench his arms out of Elizaveta and Ludwig's hold. They tightened their grip immediately, and when Lovino looked into Elizaveta's eyes, he saw nothing but pity. She didn't want this either. He turned his head to Ludwig and found that the blond was glowering adamantly at the ground, unable to make sense of the situation as well. Lovino glanced at Gilbert and noticed that the albino was now averting his eyes from the Italian entirely upon realising that Lovino was expecting an explanation for his decision. His back faced the Italian boy just as soon as he began shrieking, "Don't do this! You don't want this either, do you?!"

"It's not about what _I_ want!" Gilbert barked fervently and feverishly—spitting out his words in a hurry. "It's about what has to be done! It's to maintain the balance of the universe!"

"No! It's not!" Lovino screeched. "It's not that, dammit! You're just spewing shit by now, you albino bastard! Look at me and say that you want this! That all of this shit makes you and everyone else fucking happy! Look at me and say all of that bullshit! Look at me, dammit, and tell me what you really think!" Owain gripped Lovino's face with a single hand, forcing Lovino to stare into his dull jade eyes, apathetic and passive with only a faint trace of sympathy. It wasn't the first time he has done this, Lovino could tell. "Please don't," he begged of the auburn haired Kirkland. "Please..."

"Your soul..." Owain gasped as he stared into Lovino's eyes. Immediately, he hardened his eyes and steeled his resolve.

"Please," Lovino persisted, "don't do this. I don't want this. This doesn't have to happen. Please, please, please don't—not this—please don't do this!" Lovino glanced beyond Owain and caught Gilbert burying his eyes into the palm of his hand. His mouth moved in the same pattern again and again, yet no sound came out of his lips. Still, Lovino could make out the motions.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry, Arthur, Lovino."

Ludwig and Elizaveta stared at the ground, ashamed and guilty, while Mathias and the Vikings fiddled with the first aid kit. Even Alistair, Seamus, and Bridget and her sons were turned away from the scene.

"Please," Lovino whispered quietly. "Nobody wants this..."

"I'm sorry," Owain apologised quickly before his eyes flashed, "but look into my eyes. You'll forget all about this anyway. You won't hurt any more."

_Remember that everything will be okay and to smile._

"Arthur," Lovino murmured under his breath.

_I'll stay by your side forever and ever._

"Wake up."

_You have my word, my promise, my heart and soul._

"Open your eyes."

_I love you, Lovino. I will always love you, my most beautiful spitfire._

"I never got to tell you how I feel about all of this shit, dammit!"

_You can go home now... You can live in peace now, darling. Smile._

"It's not home without you, Arthur."

I love you, too, goddammit.

* * *

"_Fratello_, did nothing really happen?" Feliciano inquired curiously in their mother tongue for the nth time in the living room of Antonio's friend's manor. They had just finished off the rest of Antonio's _paella_ with five children and a Japanese man whose expression was grim throughout the entire meal—even when he thanked Antonio graciously for the meal. "How did I get here?"

"Didn't you run away, _idiota_?" Lovino returned offhandedly in Italian. For some reason, it almost felt strange to speak his native language. It was as if he hadn't spoken it in a long time, but that had to be impossible. "I don't remember coming to rescue you. Maybe that dumb tomato bastard did."

"Really?" Feliciano pressed further. "Antonio said that you rescued me together with him and his friends and that you were just away to make sure all of the bad guys would stay away."

Lovino growled under his breath. "I don't remember any of that, Felici."

"Really?"

"Yes, really," Lovino repeated for emphasis. "Aside from that, is that Japanese bastard the friend you've been talking about?"

"I don't think so," Feliciano replied shortly after a moment's thought. "Antonio asked where a person named 'Arturo' was. I think that's the owner of the house and that Kiku works here."

"Huh, must be a filthy rich bastard." His eyes flitted to the children playing in front of him. "Are these all of his kids? Jesus Christ! Someone needs to show this bastard how to use a fucking condom!"


	11. Chapter 10

**X: Rome**

"Who are you?"

"Is that any way to treat your grandfather?"

"My grandfather? I have a grandfather? I... I have _family_?"

The room was wholly white, and he couldn't tell if there were any walls at all. Burying himself within his white wings as though he was hiding beneath the cover of his blankets, the mousy haired child pulled his bony and bare knees to his fragile chest, the silken fabric of his white robes shifting about his slender build as he did so. Laughter echoed in the room, reverberating off unseen walls and resounding in his pointed ears, causing his small shoulders to shake with fear, as the voice mused, "Yes, I actually have seven grandsons, six of which are the Seven Princes of the Underworld while my rebellious daughter occupies the seventh title, and you are their Brother King. Your mother, my soldier, had fallen for my rebellious son, your father, the infernal devil that he is, and descended to Earth as punishment. Do you remember now?"

"N-No..." he choked out among his tears and sobs as terror burrowed in his chest, nesting in his innocent and dear little heart. The room was too white, and he didn't know where he was. A part of him yearned to cry for his mother, but he didn't even know if he had one—much less an entire family—although this entity claimed that he really did have one—a mother _and_ a family. "I-I'm sorry, sir, but who are you...?"

"Who am I? Why, the question is 'who are you'?"

"Me...? I'm... I'm..." He paused to think before answering with confidence, "Why, I'm..." Then he faltered upon the realisation that there were no memories, no thoughts, absolutely nothing, in the void of his mind. Panic and mortification crept into his being from the shadows of his mind once more as he cowered within the white feathers of his wings. Tears pricked at his emerald eyes as he asked of the unknown entity, "W-Who am I?"

_My name is Merlin, and thou art the son of Uther Pendragon. From to-day foreweard, I shall become thy mentor._

_Thou hast pulled the sword from the stone! Thou art our true king!_

_'Tis Princess Guinevere; from a line of Roman nobles, she is said to have been descended. The blood of a powerful warrior runs through her veins, My King._

_Thy love is thy folly, My King._

_I, Arthur Pendragon of Camelot, take thee, Guinevere, daughter of Ogrfan Gawr, to be my wife and Queen._

_Excalibur, that means to say "cut-steel," and tis thine to wield._

_Mordred, thee traitorous bastard!_

_Uncle, 'tis the final battle!_

_I shall save thy soul, my nephew._

Arthur gasped for breath as though surfacing from flood water when years' worth of memories from over a thousand years ago surged through his mind, breaking past the gates of his consciousness, like a raging storm. He recalled being adopted by a blacksmith. He recalled meeting Merlin the wizard. He recalled accidentally pulling a sword from the stone in the town square, he recalled meeting his first love and falling deeper in love and marrying her. He recalled being presented with Excalibur at the beginning of his reign. He recalled being betrayed by his own nephew, killing him, and then being dragged to the depths of the Underworld from his refuge in Avalon, where he was told everything he had lived was a lie—because people were easily manipulated. His human mask had cracked then, and he was once more a child but now the spawn of the Devil.

"Is this... Is this Avalon?"

The white vanquished as blue flames lapped at the empty room, and Arthur, a young man of no more than twenty-three years of physical age, soon found himself resting underneath an apple tree dressed in a plain white tunic with hide trousers secured by a red satin scarf and a pair of worn hunting boots.

"This... isn't real."

Arthur realised then that time has been lost to him. Time was never kept in the Underworld, but in Avalon... there was no time at all. There wasn't even a biological clock to tell him when to sleep or when to wake and be alert. After all, Avalon was a haven his mind had conjured almost an entire millennia ago. If he was here in Avalon, then it meant that he was recuperating from the loss of energy, and he would be stuck here until further notice—until his mind and body reunited perfectly in harmony.

* * *

"_Fratello_, are you going to work today?" Feliciano inquired as he peered into Lovino's bedroom of their apartment in Rome. Four years ago, after three months of lying low to avoid any conflict with _La Famiglia Divina_, the Vargas brothers moved to a small town apartment to start anew without any ties holding them behind. With Antonio's help, they were able to claim the right to their grandfather's inheritance and to set up a café—_Caffè Roma_, at Feliciano's insistence, named after their grandfather—though the name touched home more than it should in Lovino's opinion—and they actually quite enjoyed life in the capital, working hard for their own sake for a change.

"I always work, _idiota_," Lovino grunted as he adjusted the black tie around his neck.

"Let me rephrase that, _Fratello_: are you going to work _all_ day?" Feliciano repeated as he stared at Lovino sceptically.

"Yes, Felici, I am. Do you have a problem with that?"

"Ve, that's all you ever do now. It's like you're depressed, _Fratello_," Feliciano pointed out as he closed the door to allow Lovino to get dressed in privacy. He leaned against the door and asked tentatively, "Are you depressed, _Fratello_?"

Lovino's hands paused in the middle of smoothing out the wrinkles in his ivory shirt. He swiftly recovered and buttoned his shirt from the bottom upwards, freezing when he noticed the pattern engraved on his skin like a tattoo—right above his heart—a circumscribed star with a rose pattern within the centre. His fingers ghosted over the pattern—like a scar that can't be healed or forgotten—and answered his brother beyond the door, "I'm not depressed."

I'm just waiting, Lovino thought to himself, but he didn't know for what exactly. He didn't know why he chose to remain in Rome instead of moving south to Naples or further north to Venice, and he didn't know why he had this scar. He didn't know how he had gotten it or when he had gotten it. He didn't even know what the hell it was supposed to be! There was a gap of almost an entire week in his memory, and it pissed him off when even Antonio couldn't answer any of his questions. Rather, it was more like Antonio _wouldn't_ answer any of his questions. It was obvious that the Spaniard knew everything—or maybe just something, but that was better than nothing—that had happened. Above all, he didn't know the origin of the ancient dagger he had carried in his pocket.

Recalling the dagger, Lovino pulled out one of the drawers of his dresser and brushed his fingers over the engravings. He had contemplated pawning the object or getting it appraised since it looked like an artefact that belonged within a museum, but the Italian didn't have the heart to do even that. It was like he had to hold onto it, but he didn't know why either. Four years had passed, and he had no idea what to do with it. After all, it wasn't like he had much use for a dagger—not any more at least since he had nothing to do with the Mafia.

Four years ago, on the news, the eradication of _La Famiglia Divina_ was announced worldwide. The cause was unknown, but Lovino was partially grateful. He didn't want those traitorous bastards on his ass and threatening his only family members ever again. Honestly, the collapse of the _famiglia_...it seemed too good to be true. His grandfather's empire stretched across the globe, after all, and covered most of Europe and a good fraction of the Americas and the Asian continent. It was as though it had been ordained by God, really, the real divinity instead of some gathering of miscreants parading as an almighty power.

_Well then, if you so insist, Romano, then I mean to say that you aren't fit to carry on Romulus Vargas' legacy, _spoke a cool, nonchalant voice belonging to a face Lovino could not seem to recall no matter how hard and how long and how desperately he tried. He only remembered cool jade eyes, lifeless and dishonest in their tone, struggling to remain heartless and blunt no matter how much sympathy and empathy they've retained in the Aegean's emerald pools._ Your grandfather told me himself, and now I can see what he had meant. You cannot lead _La Famiglia Divina_. It is no wonder that they had revolted against your leadership._

Lovino remembered being indignant and affronted. He remembered _why_ but not exactly _how_ or _at whom_. It conflicted him, stirring turmoil in his heart until his chest ached and his head throbbed attempting to recollect this lost memories. Four years ago, he had lost almost a weeks' worth of memories or a weeks' worth of time. Where had they gone? What had happened to them? Reflecting on those words now, however, he could seem to understand what the speaker had told him. His grandfather didn't want him or Feliciano to live bounded to a criminal syndicate becoming more and more demonic rather than divine as time passed. They were not suited to such an evil and cruel world. A part of him was ashamed and regretful—guilty, maybe—that he could not thank the person who had warned him of this.

Pushing these thoughts to the back of his mind, Lovino finished dressing, shrugging on a dark waistcoat, slipping on a pair of trousers, and stepping into his Armani boots, and stepped out of his room with nothing but his phone, keys, and wallet. Just down the block was his and his brother's café, and morning was always the most demanding time of day aside from lunch. A few bastards would come during the evening for a drink or two though, but they were always a pain in the ass to serve—namely some albino bastard and his giant of a friend—though Feliciano took a liking to them. Sure, they were friendly, but Lovino always thought that they were _too_ friendly for customers. They didn't seem native to Rome—or Italy in general—so when Feliciano had asked where they were from in his rusty English, they had given answers like "The awesome Prussia!" and "The Kingdom of Scandinavia!" Feliciano was baited, however, and had then asked what they were doing in Rome. The albino bastard had told Feliciano that they were checking on someone for their friend who happened to be in a coma. His face was solemn and his voice was sincere, so neither brother had asked for anything more on that topic. Even the friendly giant was quiet for the longest time—before ordering another pint.

Unlocking the front doors of _Caffè Roma_, Lovino commenced another uneventful day in his new, peaceful life. When in Rome, they say, do as Romans do. He didn't protest this change even though he had four years to adjust to it. His new lifestyle was surely better than having to live life on the road trying to escape the hands of the Mafia. That's why for the next several hours, he donned a polite, courteous smile and served his customers expertly while contemplating if he ought to hire a few part-timers. Over the past four years, this business has become rather successful, and Lovino and Feliciano had made a name for themselves gradually as time passed though they were both young and though Lovino had only just graduated culinary school. He was grateful that Antonio had decided to stay in Italy for a while to help them get on their feet and to help them hold the fort while they attended classes.

"Isabel!" exclaimed an indignant voice. Lovino turned his attention to the door of his café, noticing the pair of girls simply standing there. The taller of the two wore her hair in a casual up-do and strapless floral maxi dress of dark jade green. On her feet were a pair of strapped black heels while she carried a white slouch bag over one of her shoulders. The other girl was noticeably shorter though her height was increased by the pair of white stiletto heels she wore and noticeably younger. She wore a peach coloured lace dress with a frilled and layered skirt, covering her shoulders with a cardigan of light fabric, along with a number of accessories—including a red headband in her wavy brown hair—and a Prada bag. "Is this really a good idea? To go here while Artù is still recovering?"

_Arthur_.

The name was foreign but not unfamiliar.

Ah, he remembered now. It was the name of Antonio's friend who had helped them four years ago. He hadn't returned later that night, so Lovino and Feliciano couldn't give him their thanks and gratitude—even though they couldn't even remember much that had happened. Instead, they passed the message to Kiku Honda, whose face contorted subtly with pain, straining to maintain his polite smile. Perhaps something had happened to the master of the house, but Lovino thought it rude to pry of their host. Besides, it wasn't like he was going to meet that Arthur again, and he doubted the Arthur of whom the girls spoke was the same one.

"Relax, Chiara," the woman named Isabel chimed as she sauntered into the café leisurely. "We're just grabbing a bite to eat! We're just customers, _sí_? Anyway, I'm hungry, and you said that you needed something to drink earlier when we were shopping, didn't you? There's nothing more to this, so don't think too much about it, _chica_!"

Chiara frowned but didn't protest, joining her friend at a table. Lovino swept over to their table with a charming smile and greeted them suavely, "_Buongiorno, signorine_," before asking for their order. Normally, Feliciano would take care of the orders while Lovino worked the kitchen, but since his little brother was currently in class, he'll have to handle everything himself. (Maybe it was time to hire an extra hand or two...) Isabel smiled at his greeting, nudging her friend lightly as though to comment on something, before replying that she would like a _caffè latte_ and a ricotta cheesecake. The frown on her friend's lips deepened into a scowl as she begrudgingly asked Lovino, "Do you know who I am? Or do you know who she is?"

Lovino blinked curiously at the feisty _bella_ before answering her question with another one, "Have we met somewhere before?" He stopped and glanced over the two girls. "Or maybe you're famous? I'm sorry, but I don't really pay that much attention to the media."

Isabel burst into a fit of giggles at the unintended compliment while Chiara bit her tongue to refrain from snapping at the oblivious waiter. "Forget it," she huffed before gathering her bags. "I don't know how you and those other two morons can bear this, but I can't. It feels wrong—like spying. I'm leaving."

"It's not spying," Isabel defended herself and the other two "morons" Chiara mentioned, reaching out to stop her friend. Lovino backed away from the sight, not wanting to get too involved with a fight between girls but ready to stop it if he could since this was _his_ establishment, dammit, not some random bar, and watched their interaction curiously. "We're watching over him—not spying—because it's for Arturo's sake. He can't do it while he's sleeping."

"You mean 'comatose,'" Chiara corrected bitterly. "There's no way that four years of recuperation can be categorised as 'sleeping.'" Nevertheless, somewhat persuaded, she sat back down in her seat, glanced at Lovino fleetingly, before ordering a cup of cappuccino. Lovino noticed that she eyed one of the menu items curiously. "Angel cake?" she muttered under her breath before directing a question to Lovino. "What is angel cake?"

"It's a layer cake from the United Kingdom," Lovino answered shortly. He was actually quite surprised that the item had ended up on his menu as well, but he figured it would go well with a cup of _caffè latte_ if the coffee was replaced with masala chai (since he didn't offer tea because people only drank tea in Italy if they were sick—usually). "It's made of three layers of sponge cake, lined with a thin layer of white cream."

"Angel cake..." she repeated, glancing at Lovino curiously. "Are you sure you don't remember me or Isabel?"

"Chiara!" Isabel whispered sternly from the other side of the table.

Ignoring her older friend, she pressed further, "Does the name 'Arthur' ring a bell?"

_King Arthur Pendragon of Camelot. King Arthur of Britannia. King Arthur... Arthur..._

"It... It doesn't," Lovino answered hesitantly.

She clicked her tongue in disdain before humouring Lovino and ordering a slice of angel cake.

Another strange customer, Lovino thought to himself as he began to prepare their order himself. No other customer entered the café at the moment, so after serving the two beautiful—though strange—women, Lovino pulled out his phone and began to surf the Internet for a King Arthur. Pulling up the Wikipedia article, he skimmed through the contents and wondered if Chiara was referring to this King Arthur, a legendary British leader who may or may not be real, or if it was just something his mind had suggested to screw with him. Still, he indulged himself in these folklores just to pass the time when business dragged to a slower pace, which usually lasted until the evening, when the stupid albino bastard and the giant came to visit him at work.

"Don't you bastards have anything better to do than loiter around my shop?" Lovino demanded in an accented English as he served Gilbert another dark lager—_La Rossa—_with a slice of pizza topped with Italian sausage since they didn't have any of that German crap—wurst, was it?—that he had ordered. It drove him insane that these bastards insisted on speaking English when they were in _Italy_ for God's sake. Maybe they couldn't crash other bars since they couldn't order in Italian, and because they knew that Lovino spoke English and some Spanish as well as his native language, they decided to come here instead. "Don't you guys have a job or something? It must be a bitch to deal with a hangover the next morning from drinking too much—and don't you bastards dare to trash my damn bar again, _capito_?"

"Are you worried about us, Lovino?" Gilbert cooed before he took a swig out of his pint. "Don't you have any German beer? It's better than this shit."

"You're in Italy. You get Italian beer," Lovino answered gruffly. "Wine is better anyway; I don't understand why you're so fixated on beer, you albino bastard. If you don't like it, then take your business elsewhere."

"You're such a wino, Lovino," Gilbert grumbled as he feasted upon his pizza despite Mathias' disapproving glance.

"Gilbert, you're going to get indigestion if you eat that."

"But it's Italian food..." Gilbert whined.

"You have trouble digesting wheat!"

"Who cares? If I can eat fruits and vegetables, disgusting as they are, wheat and other plants are nothing! I'll be fine! It'll all go to the crapper anyway!"

"Is that a medical condition?" Lovino muttered under his breath, wondering if his business would be screwed the next day because the albino bastard ordered something he shouldn't have. He ignored Gilbert's last comment and again struck up conversation with his only remaining patrons. "Anyway, you're fine with Italian food but not Italian beer?"

"German beer is the best!"

Lovino rolled his eyes and remarked, "I can't tell if you're a fussy eater or not," the Italian remarked dryly as he watched Gilbert finish off the rest of his pizza in a rather feral manner. His appetite was like that of a wolf, the brunet mused as he polished another one of his champagne glasses. "But, seriously, do you guys even have jobs?"

"How rude," Gilbert retorted, downing the rest of his lager, before demanding another. Mathias did the same. "I'm a guard dog."

"You're a _what_? Bastard, stop shitting around."

"Yeah, Gilbert, stop shitting around," Mathias grumbled, elbowing his friend and giving him a pointed glance. "I really can't figure out if you want him to remember or forget," he muttered under his breath, the words inaudible to Lovino's ears. Gilbert caught the remark, however, and grinned sheepishly. Ignoring his friend's ambiguous response to his statement, Mathias played along with Gilbert, teasing Lovino, "We'd tell you, but then we'd have to kill you."

"You two are such bastards," Lovino grunted.

"I wonder just how you keep your customers," Gilbert commented dryly as he gratefully took another one of Lovino's crappy beers.

"Haven't you noticed?" Mathias retorted. "They're all _women_."

"Lovino's only nice to girls. I feel bad for Arthur."

"Arthur?" Lovino caught the name quickly the very moment it rolled off Gilbert's tongue. Again with that name, he thought sombrely. Coming from Gilbert, it felt more familiar than it had with Chiara and Isabel. Antonio never mentioned his friend, "Arturo," ever again—or, rather, he didn't dare to do so. Lovino never had a cause to ask him, but, maybe, now he did.

"Oh, _Scheiße_!" Gilbert cursed himself, palming his forehead, as Mathias glared blatantly at his friend. "Forget all about that, all right, Lovino? It's nothing. Just forget it."

Lovino narrowed his eyes at Gilbert, connecting his words directly to what Chiara had uttered earlier that morning. Maybe these two were the "morons" she had mentioned. They certainly fit the description.

"Whatever, bastards, but you're acting weird."

The next morning, Lovino opened shop with Feliciano, and just as he was sweeping the front steps, he caught sight of a little boy tripping over his shoe laces right in front of his shop. Lovino started and nearly approached the child to ask if he was okay until a blond swooped in front of him and lifted the boy in his arms into the air, swinging him around in a circle before propping him on his hips. The cerulean eyes that had been watering with pain now glimmered with delight as he clung onto his father's arm. Well, Lovino assumed he was his father, but the man was actually quite young—not much older than Lovino, at least. He studied the man for a moment, noting him as a foreigner like Gilbert and Mathias with his pale skin, mousy blond hair that was quite unruly, and a casual outfit that varied from the clothing Lovino normally saw in Rome, consisting of a light grey blazer, a white Led Zeppelin t-shirt, with a pair of black jeans and black military boots. Titanium rings lined his ears while a simple and plain cross dangled upside-down from his pierced earlobe.

A part of Lovino stilled with fear as he realised that the young man might have been a Satanist. Lovino has never met a Satanist before, and he wasn't sure what to think or believe. Still, he couldn't be a bad guy if he was that cheery and playful with his kid... right? Lovino was shaken from his thoughts as the blond turned to carry the boy off somewhere, and the Italian caught a glimpse of his bright emeralds and froze in his shoes. His heart pounded violently and frenetically as heat surged to his cheeks. A part of him wanted to call out to the man, but he couldn't—frozen by a cold, icy panic that sealed his feet to the ground and his lips to each other.

Then his heart stopped beating altogether as the father and son pair joined a woman with golden brown hair pulled into a French twist. She was fashionable, but her style was more Parisian than Milanese or Roman or Neapolitan. She wore a flowing dark skirt with a white lace blouse underneath a tan boyfriend cardigan that fell half-way down her skirt. Her long, slender legs were further defined by the dark pumps she wore, and hanging from her shoulder was a dark leather Coco Chanel handbag. Not only was she fashionable, she was _beautiful,_ a perfect match for the handsome young man. Much like him, she carried a blond haired boy who was most likely the brother of the other child, and she held the hand of a dark haired little girl—probably adopted, Lovino thought to himself—while two Oriental boys clung to her cardigan—adopted, Lovino confirmed, the three of them, or maybe even five.

The blond haired man took the girl's other hand, and together the couple and their children strolled down the streets of Rome. The heart that had been pounding fervently and feverishly in Lovino's chest stopped altogether and ached, throbbing with a most unbearable pain, as he clutched at his flesh where the scar was located as though he could soothe his breaking heart physically. Why did it hurt so much? Lovino wondered as tears pricked at his eyes, demanding release. He stared at the back of the foreigners—most likely tourists—as they walked away from his café and to a street vendor selling gelato nearby. It was unreasonable... Why the hell was he hurting? The blond was a stranger, just a stranger...

"Arthur, we came to Rome to help you recuperate, you know," the woman chastised her—husband? Maybe, most likely—companion in an accented English, French by the sounds of it, confirming Lovino's earlier suspicions, as the blond paid for the cold treat. "The air is better here than in England, yes, but you're going to exhaust yourself at this rate trying to humour the children."

"It's fine, Marianne," the young man—Arthur, again that name—insisted. "I've rested long enough anyway." His tongue lapped at the gelato in the cone, making Lovino flush in embarrassment for eavesdropping and spying on the family, yet he couldn't tear his eyes away from the blond. He couldn't hear enough of that voice—English, pure English—the proper Queen's English—and he couldn't help but feel... hopeful? But for what? Lovino's fingers curled into his chest. He didn't understand any of this.

"That's right!" the child in Arthur's arms cried. "Daddy's been away for four years! We have to spend as much time with him as we can, Mama!"

The woman, Marianne, smiled tenderly at the boy and stroked his hair. "You're a good boy, Alfred, but can't you see that your _papa_ is growing tired?"

"_Maman_," the boy in her arms pointed to Lovino's café, "why don't we go sit and rest?" For a moment, Lovino panicked, assuming that the boy had caught sight of him observing their happy family, but he calmed himself, knowing that the boy had suggested it for his father's sake. Perhaps his health was failing? But he was still so young... The moment Lovino raised his head, his eyes met with blue-violet orbs that quickly pulled away.

"I don't think it would be fair to the businesses if we loitered there," Marianne told her son. "Shall we find a park to sit and relax?"

"Yes, yes, yes!" Alfred agreed immediately, bouncing in his father's arms. "A park! A park! Will there be slides and swings and merry-go-rounds?"

"We'll have to see, Alfred," Arthur responded with a fond smile, pressing a kiss to the boy's temple. Lovino's heart lurched, and he wanted nothing more to be a part of that picture. He wanted a big family as well, and he wanted to be loved and to love. Above all, he wanted to reach out to this Arthur, stop him from leaving, but... Why?

Why? It really didn't make any sense.

After all, they were merely strangers, weren't they?

All throughout the day, Lovino's mind wandered to that blond haired stranger, wondering about him and distracting him from his work. His younger brother had pointed this out as well, but when confronted, Lovino would dismiss the matter nonchalantly. It was nothing, he insisted time and time again. At least, it was nothing—until Gilbert and Mathias brought along a new friend that night.

"Calm down, you gits!" exclaimed his—hopefully—newest customer as Gilbert dragged him into the café. Upon hearing that foreign—but strangely and eerily familiar—voice, Lovino froze in his shoes, dropping everything that he was doing just to listen to that "I know that you wanted to go out drinking, but it's a little too much to be this excited, innit, you bloody wankers? And isn't this a café? I might not be a connoisseur when it comes to food, but even I can tell this is a bleeding coffee-house! It's not a pub, so don't you blokes get pissed here!"

"Oh, lighten up, Arthur!" Mathias beamed as he smacked his friend's back, propelling the Briton forward several paces as he stumbled and struggled to regain his balance.

_Arthur_.

Lovino pivoted on his heel, turning to face Gilbert and Mathias' friend, before halting immediately when his eyes locked onto stunning—or stunned—emeralds that were just as wide and surprised as he was. His heart pounded faster and faster, ramming against his chest, as his breath hitched in his throat. He couldn't tear away his gaze, captivated and enraptured by those shimmering, glimmering emeralds, and wanted nothing more to stop time from continuing, preserving that very moment, embedding it into his memory and engraving it into his heart. He didn't want to forget. He didn't want to forget them or this man ever.

_No, no, no, no! Please don't... Don't do this..._

The Arturo from whom Antonio had sought help four years ago, the Artù of whom Chiara and Isabel had spoken, the Arthur Gilbert had mentioned yesterday through a slip of the tongue, and the Arthur from this morning—the Arthur in front of him—began to merge into one image. They were all one and the same, Lovino realised instinctively with no evidence and only this flustered, anxious and apprehensive sensation welling in the depths of his being, the same person everyone has been keeping from him until this moment—but why? Who is he? Why did he feel as though he was familiar with a stranger?

"Gilbert," Arthur muttered darkly under his breath although he had yet to break eye contact with Lovino, "what is the meaning of this?"

"Bachelor's party?" Gilbert suggested half-heartedly.

At that response, Arthur immediately pivoted on his heel and swung a heavy fist at Gilbert's face. The albino bastard didn't have enough time to defend himself since Arthur moved within the blink of an eye, his actions fluid and swift, and took the hit. Due to the difference in height, instead reaching his eye, the punch collided with Gilbert's jaw, but the force was enough to throw the albino off his feet, collapsing onto a table and knocking it over as he shrank under Arthur's hardened emeralds, the light of the café reflecting in his eyes dangerously like a flickering flame or a spark of lightning. "You're an arsehole, Gilbert," he spat before marching out of the café. Lovino's heart plummeted into his stomach with utter disappointment—though, again, he didn't know why exactly. Nothing seemed to make sense any more.

Gilbert, in response, remained on the floor, eyes downcast, as he rubbed his jaw.

Mathias sighed. "I knew this was a bad idea..." the giant muttered under his breath to avoid explaining anything to Lovino. The tall blond glanced sideways at Lovino and whispered, "You're going to _re_-introduce him to the love of his life—his _soul mate_—after you're the one who went off and said, 'Erase his memories'?"

"Yeah, I fucked up," Gilbert admitted before dropping his gaze to the floor. "I have at least let them meet once though before... before Arthur's month is up. He has to... to come to terms with everything, doesn't he?" When Mathias didn't respond, keeping his empty, lifeless eyes trained on his shorter friend, the albino then glanced at Lovino with a sheepish grin. "Arthur will be pissed off if I—or even Mathias—went to get him to come back. Do me a favour and chase after him for me?"

"Why me?" Lovino retorted coolly as he crossed his arms in front of his chest. "He's _your_ friend, and this is _your_ problem. Plus, he's the one who fought in my shop for whatever reason, so why the hell would I want him to come back?"

When he met with Gilbert's cool gaze—solemn and serious for once in the few years Lovino has known him—the Italian bit his tongue, weary of provoking the stronger man. "Do you really feel that way?" Gilbert persisted icily. "Do you really think that this isn't your problem? That you won't regret this for the rest of your life?"

"I don't even know what the hell you're talking about!" Lovino snapped.

"That's right, you don't!" Gilbert agreed. "You don't _know_, but what the hell do you feel—right here—in your heart?" The albino pounded a fist against his chest right where his heart was located. "What do you think you should do, Lovino, even if you don't know what's going on?"

That was enough to send Lovino chasing after the blond haired man with the gorgeous emerald eyes.

* * *

**A/N:** We've reached chapter ten, and there are only four more chapters and an epilogue to follow this. In other words, these are the final chapters.

A bachelor's party is a US term that is the equivalent of stag party, stag night, stag do, or a buck's night that usually implies a man's "last night of freedom," or something of the like.

Thank you to all who have reviewed, followed, or added this story to their favourites!


	12. Chapter 11

**XI: At the Beginning**

When he had opened his eyes that day, the first person to greet him was Marianne. She had smiled at him with pure adoration in her eyes, clasping onto his hands and kissing him over and over again. He didn't return any of her touches, but he did ask her what time it was.

"What time is it?" she had repeated incredulously. "_Je ne crois pas_! You ought to be asking 'What _year_ is it?' At least we are still in the same century!"

That had startled him into reality. He had shot upright in bed, head spinning with vertigo from the rush, before Marianne had forced him to recline and to relax and to rest. "It's been four years since you've slain your uncle," she had informed him as she handed him a glass of water. Under her expectant eye, he had drunk from glass, the cool liquid soothing his dry throat. Four years... The weight of her words had hit him, crushing him under a heavy weight, as he buried his head into his hands. _Four years_...

"Romano?" Arthur had rasped. "Where is he? What happened?"

"His memories have been erased, or so Francis, the girls, and I have been informed," Marianne had answered faithfully, not a trace of deceit coating her words, as she squeezed Arthur's knee tenderly. "Owain did it at Gilbert's explanation; he said that you would have done so from what you've told them the night you were planning to invade the Vargas estate. Gilbert has been reporting to you at least once every month that Romano has been living peacefully in Italy with his brother for the past four years. Do not ask me why, _mon cher_. Perhaps he merely felt obligated."

"That's... That's good—that he's been doing well," Arthur had responded desolately, not having the strength to force good will into his words. He did, in fact, say that. It felt like only days ago when he had said so, but after everything that has happened, he would have done anything and everything in his power to protect Lovino from harm's way... Only he wasn't there. He had left Lovino to Gilbert and Mathias' care in his absence, and this was the result. He couldn't complain, could he? A part of him had known that this would have happened at any rate. Still, despair had overwhelmed him. Owain was just as powerful of a sorcerer as he and Alistair. There was no way that Lovino could remember him, and there was little chance of reversing the spellbind. "What of Romulus Vargas' family?"

"Eradicated on your behalf by the Four Lords," Marianne had assured him with a gentle smile.

"I feel this is not the end of what you've to tell me," Arthur had remarked dryly. "Has... Has anything happened to the children?"

"They're healthy but not quite happy—not without you," Marianne had informed diligently. "Kiku has cared for them in your Tokyo residence." She had then smiled and mentioned, "Alfred wishes to eat hamburgers with you, and Matthieu wants to eat breakfast with you again—pancakes, naturally. Angelique is making a list of the beaches and aquariums that she wants to attend with you, and Jia Long and Neeraja are looking forward to practising magic tricks with you."

"You sound like you've visited them often."

"Of course, I am to become their mother."

The words had sunk into Arthur's mind, lingering there and echoing endlessly, as he whispered disbelievingly, "_What_?"

"It was a decision made by the Council two years ago," Marianne had explained then. "They couldn't wait for you."

"Surely, Gilbert and Mathias would have protested on my behalf; I can't just _marry_ like this!"

"You are a romantic through and through, Arthur," Marianne had mused, "but even Gilbert was forced to agree with the Council. Francis could have done nothing simply because he wasn't sure of what to do as well; after all, he was the one who was quite weary about you being with Lovino Vargas in the first place because of... well, _you know_. On the other hand, Mathias was alone until the end, but nobody wanted history to repeat itself—what with Guinevere and all... I'm sorry, Arthur. We have a month until our wedding day. The Scribe, your aunt, and your cousin, James, planned most of it. I... I didn't want to do anything without your approval and assent."

* * *

Arthur slowed to a stop at a park and collapsed onto a bench though he was not quite short of breath. He glanced around him and recognised, faintly, his surroundings. Just another few blocks and he would have reached his manor, which was disguised as an Italian flat at the moment. Four years in the past meant nothing to him, but now he had lost control of so many variables in his life in so little time. He sighed and raked his hand through his hair, grumbling, "Bollocks." He raised his head to the skies above, watching as a stream of light swirl about the night sky, and mumbled, "What rubbish..."

He hated speaking of marriage for this very reason; it always went back to Guinevere, his first love, a human princess. He knew history was not kind to her—accusing her of adultery with Lancelot or Mordred—but he could vouch on her behalf that she was not as a number of historians depicted. She was intelligent, beautiful, and a kindly soul, but she was human—mortal. At that time, Arthur did not even know he was a demon—or a daemon of any sort—and so he had loved her with all his heart until the day of his coming, the day he had slain Mordred in battle and the day he was dragged to Avalon and then to the Underworld. There was no return to his normal and mortal life when the King of the Underworld had vanished and left Arthur with his throne to fill. By his parents' wish, he could not disappoint them.

His people, however, after accepting Arthur as their king and ruler, wanted a queen. Arthur, still very much in love with Guinevere at the time, had wanted no other. Feeling sympathetic for his "friend," Francis had believed that he had arrived at some ingenious conclusion—a harem of concubines. At first, Arthur had thought him outrageous (still did, actually), but Francis had reasoned that, if the public came to see the group of potential brides, they would grow to love and adore King Arthur's choice in brides. Hopefully, Francis had also mentioned, Arthur might also fall in love with one of his beautiful girls as well. The former prospect had maintained true as centuries passed, but the latter had yet to come true—not even as a self-fulfilling prophecy. Over time, it became clear that Marianne was the favourite among the masses, being mature and intelligent on top of being beautiful, while Amelia and Alice were not far behind her in the rankings—adored for their energy, vibrancy, and youth. In the meanwhile, the public's admiration of the harem would keep Arthur away from any discussion of weddings and marriage and a _queen_.

It seemed to have resurfaced during his four years of recuperation.

A part of him understood why. A queen was to assume the crown and to become the acting ruler in any event that something—anything at all—happens to the king. Arthur was inactive for four years, and that was enough time for the people to question their satisfaction with simply a harem of concubines. They had voted in favour of a marriage, and they had chosen in favour of the most popular succubus, Marianne. Had this been another universe, Arthur supposed he would have fallen in love with the Frenchwoman, but not here—not now—possibly not ever—not in this universe and not in this lifetime. He enjoyed her company; she was a wonderful debate partner being as argumentative as she was. He thought of her as nothing more than a friend, however, maybe as close as a sister.

Honestly, he felt sorry for her.

Her husband was a man who did not love her as she did to him. That was probably one of the worst gifts anyone could ever receive.

"You run fast."

Arthur's heart flipped in his chest upon hearing that familiar voice, speaking in a heavily accented English, the language having fallen out of use, and he turned his head to find Lovino standing in front of him, panting lightly, exhausted. He's twenty-three now, the blond realised, but he doesn't look much different. He was the same height, but his hair might have grown a little longer—not by much—though his eyes—oh, his beautiful, _beautiful_ eyes—had matured some, gaining a gleam of wisdom. The blue flame of his soul was the same as ever though, and Arthur smiled, relieved that nothing in these four years had harmed Lovino.

"What are you doing here?" Arthur found himself asking, forgetting as emotions overwhelmed him to speak in Italian for Lovino's ease.

"That albino bastard asked me to chase after you," Lovino answered shortly in his accented English as he collapsed onto the spot next to the Briton on the bench. He avoided Arthur's gaze, and the blond could guess why. It was always awkward to have to speak with a... a stranger. Arthur's heart lurched in pain at the thought, but he supposed he couldn't help it. Again Arthur was reminded that he really had in fact spoken of erasing and actually considered erasing Lovino's memories once before; Gilbert had no fault in that matter. In another instance, however, the hellhound was a complete and utter _moron _on top of being an entirely insensitive twat. "You okay?"

Arthur gave the Italian a wry smile and responded, "Not quite."

"You, uhh... want to talk about it?"

"If you can follow," Arthur replied shortly, the bitterness lingering in his voice and on his lips. He knew that Lovino would be in Rome. His hand fell over his heart. He could feel that Lovino was in Rome; he could feel his presence. It might have been his own fault for coming here. He knew, that morning, how close Lovino was to him when they were getting gelato. He knew and yet... and yet he couldn't give up. He couldn't cancel this contract like how he had done to Antonio Fernandez Carriedo because Lovino was... He was _different_; he was _special_. "Do you want me to speak in Italian?" the Briton asked Lovino with a weary smile.

"You... You can speak Italian?"

"Don't lump me together with those brainless twits," Arthur remarked dryly. "I can open a book and study a language or two unlike them—even though they probably travel more than I do!" He always found that ridiculous. The only language Gilbert ever bothered to learn was the Germanic languages as they evolved, and while Mathias could keep up with the languages that were spoken in the former Kingdom of Scandinavia, he didn't bother with much else aside from English. Because Gilbert was a patrolling hellhound, Arthur figured he would need to know more than simply German or English to get from country to country. However, the werewolf insisted that the other pack members could do that themselves. For example, Roderich himself spoke German and French as well as English, and Elizaveta's native language was Hungarian. There was hardly any need for Gilbert, as the albino had insisted and continued to insist, to learn another language when he could be out and about drinking his awesome beer.

"So what else can you speak?" Lovino asked, switching to his mother tongue with relief. Curiosity plagued his mind now that he realised that Gilbert and Mathias' friend was hardly anything like them—thank God!

"English and Celtic languages—such as Irish Gaelic, Scottish Gaelic, Welsh, and Breton—along with Latin, Greek, German, French, Danish, Norwegian, Swedish, Italian, Spanish, some Japanese and Chinese—ah, am I boring you?" Arthur immediately stopped upon seeing the gaping expression Lovino wore.

"How the hell...?"

"I, err, had a lot of time on my hands," the blond explained. Rather, since he was based in Great Britain a good lot of the time, he had seen conquerors and kings and enemies and allies come and go. During times of a new reign, he always took the duty of studying the new party's language upon himself for the sake of understanding. Latin and Greek came from the time of _Provincia Britannia_ as well as from the philosophers and scholars who came to study, his understanding of West Germanic languages had its origins in the Anglo-Saxon invasion, his understanding of Gallic languages originated from the days of the Norman Invasion, the North Germanic languages from the time of Cnut the Great, Italian due to Shakespeare's (and everyone's, really) fascination with the mysterious country of Italy, where it seemed that anything could happen, Spanish from the hatred brewing in England towards Spain, Japanese from the Anglo-Japanese alliance, and Chinese from all of the trading—and the resulting Opium War. It might have been a bad idea to tell Lovino that considering that it was nearly impossible to learn all of those languages within a human lifespan. Still, he didn't want to lie to Lovino; he didn't want to hide anything from him. He was tired of that.

"You must be a smart bastard," Lovino muttered incoherently, but Arthur was still able to hear him. The Briton smiled bitterly, recalling how he had told Lovino that he was hardly ever wrong due to his collection of experiences amounting to a total of 1581—now 1585, he supposed—years, and reclined on the park bench. "So what's your story? How come you punched the albino bastard?"

"He... He did something rather stupid," Arthur remarked curtly.

"Well, that's nothing new," Lovino grunted. "I mean, obviously, he did something stupid; you did trash my shop punching him. I think my table's busted now."

"Sorry, I'll pay for the damages."

"It's fine, bastard," Lovino assured. "So what the hell did he do this time?"

Arthur pursed his lips together, unsure of how to dodge this question, oblivious to the fact that Lovino was studying him curiously, and raised his head to study the starless sky. The moon was hiding behind a wisp of grey clouds, and he could spot the blinking lights of an aeroplane in the distance. "Right," he muttered, "I'm not even sure if it's his fault at this point." Arthur had left the café to simmer down his frothing, seething anger and simply to think about what would happen in the near future. He didn't want to marry yet, but he only had a month left before his and Marianne's wedding day. Lovino couldn't even remember anything that had transpired, so in regard to their relationship, they had to begin again at square one—and only had a month's time to rekindle anything at all.

A month.

Normally, a month would be over in the blink of an eye.

Now he had to make this month last.

"You can start from the beginning," Lovino assured him at his side with an encouraging smile that quickly disappeared. "I mean, we have all damn night."

"I'm not sure if you want the _very_ beginning," Arthur mused—mostly to himself. Trying to explain his childhood would take _hours_ if one was to include all sorts of variables and factors that were manipulated, and trying to simplify everything to its purest form would take almost as long as well. It would be easier, Arthur decided, if Lovino just remembered, but that was asking too much, wasn't it? To attempt to reverse Owain's magic could possibly leave devastating effects if there was even the slightest loss of concentration, and Arthur didn't want to risk that. Lovino was too precious; Arthur would much rather wait—for as long as it would take—until the brunet finally remembered. If, Arthur thought dismally, Lovino ever remembers. "Are you really willing to listen to me?"

Lovino huffed and rolled his eyes. "It's not like I have anything better to do," the brunet retorted. "I'm already out here, and even though he looks incapable of anything, really, that albino bastard isn't a bad guy. Like I said before, we have all damn night."

Arthur chuckled, commenting, "You're pretty relaxed about this. Aren't I just a stranger?" He hoped he wasn't. Even though it was a ridiculous notion, considering Owain's capability with magic, he couldn't help but even pray that Lovino remembered him—that he wasn't _just_ a stranger.

"You look like shit."

Well, the Briton hadn't been expecting that sort of reply. He raised an eyebrow, dubious, and responded, "That's awfully blunt."

"Shit happens," Lovino continued. "We just... need to accept it and move on with our lives." Arthur's heart ached painfully. He remembered not too long ago—probably because to him four years hadn't even passed yet—that he had told Lovino something similar upon the retrieval of Feliciano's soulless body. Maybe, he thought to himself, not all hope was lost. "I can't remember who told me that—or even why—but... It feels important. I don't know—I'm... I'm weird. There's this one instance where I lost an entire week's worth of memories—or maybe the entire week in general. I don't remember it ever happening, but—ah, never mind." Lovino cracked a bitter, sarcastic grin and remarked, "We're supposed to be talking about you, dammit."

Arthur pressed his lips together to prevent himself from smiling, to prevent any surge of hope from arising within him. Perhaps, a part of him thought, Owain's magic was defective. That was nearly impossible, given Owain's competence with the arcane arts, but, still, he persisted, it wasn't _entirely_ impossible. Maybe it was foolish for him to wish so, however. "Okay," the Briton conceded. To what he had surrendered, he wasn't sure, and even though it might have been a terrible idea to get involved—to get Lovino involved again—Arthur couldn't resist. It wouldn't hurt to spend a little more time with Lovino, would it? After all, he only had a month before he was to be wedded for the second time in his long-lasting lifetime. He was an immortal king, Arthur reminded him, so it was better not to fall in love with a mortal.

It hurt thinking so.

"A long time ago," Arthur began wearily, wondering how to cover his story with more acceptable human morals and values, "a friend—acquaintance, actually—of mine decided to... arrange several blind dates for me." All at once, Arthur thought sardonically, and change it into a harem of twenty-four concubines rather than _blind dates_. "My... my subordinates all wanted me to get married for the sake of the—the family, I suppose," Arthur continued hesitantly. It wasn't so far from the truth; the Scribe demanded a biological and legitimate heir—damn him. "I didn't want to be forced into an arranged marriage; I didn't want to marry at all, actually. That's why my acquaintance thought it would have been better if I said that I was thinking about it, so he arranged all of those girls for me... It really was not much different from what my relatives and subordinates wanted. I hated it.

"I left my home for some peace and quiet isolation—with the occasional visitor—and adopted children instead. My friends thought, by adopting, I meant a pet dog or a cat or _something_, but, no, I became a single father with children from around the world. Hilarious, isn't it? I was fine without a wife, but I still wanted a family. Perhaps it was to compensate for Guinevere—my last wife who... who passed away. I'm really not sure.

"Their company made life more enjoyable, however. They livened the household, and I could see the charm in settling down with a soul mate, more like, than a wife. Anyone can fill the position of a wife, but a soul mate is... is the one blessing the Heavens would bestow a demon like me. I met him, you know, my soul mate."

Lovino's heart halted, skipping a beat, as an uncomfortable sensation overcame him. It wasn't like he was uncomfortable with the notion of same-sex marriage; that wasn't it at all. He had a number of customers who were happy couples both hetero- and homosexual. Instead, he felt... queasy with the realisation that this emerald-eyed stranger had someone special—woman or not.

"If that person was your soul mate, then who was—?" Lovino stopped himself before he spoke out of line. Who was that woman from this morning? No, he couldn't ask that, Lovino reprimanded himself. If he had, then the blond would know that Lovino had been spying on him. Lovino didn't want that. He didn't want to say or do anything to ruin—ruin this... this moment since... since they didn't have a relationship or connection of any kind. This bastard was only the friend—maybe—of two of his regular customers. He was a foreigner, a stranger, a tourist never to be seen again.

It hurt thinking that.

"'Then who was' what?" the blond asked him curiously.

"Ah, sorry, I meant to say, what happened to him?"

"He... lost his memories," Arthur confessed reluctantly, avoiding all eye contact with Lovino as remorse crossed his visage. "Someone attacked us one night, and I passed out from blood loss and... _poison._ They managed to stab me twice." Arthur's fingers traced where his old wounds linger though they were no longer there physically—daemons had an exceptional healing rate excluding the dead bodies of revenants—on his shoulder and in his side. However, when Patrick had pierced his heart with an arrow of black flames, his uncle's life essence began consuming his flesh and battling with his own blue flames—according to everyone in the Council—like a parasite or a poison. "He—my soul mate—was unharmed, thankfully, though it was a close call. I can... probably never see him again."

"Why?" Lovino blurted out as a heavy weight pooled in his stomach, nailing him to his spot on the bench. A faint throbbing sensation pounded at his skull as some unknown hand pulled on the strings of his heart. It hurt; it really hurt. His chest ached, his head ached, and his stomach was nauseous. "Because he lost his memories? That doesn't mean anything..."

"Does it really?"

Lovino turned his gaze to meet with Arthur's and found himself captivated by those glistening emeralds. They were desperate, glossy and glassy, as though any moment liquid emerald drops would trickle from the brim of his vivid eyes and roll down his porcelain cheeks.

"Does it really mean nothing?" Arthur repeated softly, voice a cracked whisper carried by the night wind that swept over them. He reached out a hand and cupped the side of Lovino's face, and the brunet froze in his shoes at the gentleness of the Briton's touch. Subconsciously, he leaned into the caress, kind and tender, as Arthur's thumb brushed against his olive skin. "Nothing at all...?"

"If you really love him, you wouldn't let him go," Lovino found himself responding despite the fact that it felt as if that unknown hand was slowly tearing his heart into two bloody pieces in an agonisingly slow and most torturous manner.

"I only have a month," Arthur muttered.

"A month?"

"I told you," the blond reminded, dropping his hand onto Lovino's, clutching the latter's hand tightly as though never to let go, "that my relatives and my subordinates wanted me to marry. They've already decided for me. It's been arranged within a month."

"Then you better hurry, bastard," Lovino remarked. "Don't... Don't keep him waiting." There's no way, the Italian thought bitterly, that anyone could get over losing you.

"Is it really okay?" Arthur whispered softly, dropping his eyes to the wooden surface of the bench, contemplating quietly. Lovino almost hadn't heard him, and he almost responded until the blond raised his eyes to give the Italian a wide, warm smile. "Thank you." The Briton stood onto his feet and stretched out a hand for Lovino to take. "You ought to get back to your café. Even though Gilbert is more responsible than he seems, I still wouldn't trust him around alcohol—even if it is alcohol he doesn't like." Lovino scowled at the mention of the albino bastard before gladly taking Arthur's hand. He was taken by surprise, body freezing in surprise, as the blond pulled him into a gentle, tender embrace, cradling him like the soft wings of an angel.

_The Britannia Angel_.

Eh? Lovino shook his head, clearing his thoughts, as his cheeks slowly reddened upon inhaling Arthur's scent of faint traces of rum and tea, fresh herbs, and red roses. It smelt familiar, Lovino pondered to himself. He couldn't help but steal another whiff of the smell that was uniquely Arthur's. Why did this feel so familiar? These arms, this warm, this smell, this sense of safety and security... It was all so familiar.

Arthur's arms were wrapped all around him in a snakelike vice, not wanting to release Lovino and let him go, one of which was tightly wound around his waist, the other slid up his back and into his hair, fingers weaving through perfectly. "Thank you," Arthur whispered softly, "thank you so much, Romano."

Lovino's heart skipped a beat. Romano?

Who was Romano, and why did that name sound so familiar?

Ah, the brunet realised shortly with a twinge of dejection and desolation, maybe Romano was the name of Arthur's "soul mate." It was a relatively common name as well—unlike Lovino—so maybe Arthur made a mistake. Maybe he looked like this Romano.

"I'll walk you to your café," Arthur suggested, reluctantly pulling away from the Italian young man.

"I'm not a woman," Lovino remarked dryly. "I'll be fine."

"I'm only being courteous," Arthur retorted just as blandly. "It's what a gentleman would do."

"_You're_ a gentleman?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

Lovino snorted and countered, "You walked into someone's café, punched a guy over a table, and damaged the aforementioned table. I'm not sure if a gentleman does that."

Arthur cracked a smile. "Well, I try to be one," the blond mused as the two of them began to stroll side by side. They were a little too close, Lovino noticed. There was hardly any space between them, and it was close enough that the backs of their hands brushed against each other occasionally. Arthur's hand was rather cold, and Lovino would give anything just to warm it with his own. He refrained himself, however, knowing that Arthur was already fixated on someone. He frowned at the thought, and Arthur took notice. "I used to be a punk," the blond mentioned almost randomly in an attempt to avert Lovino's attention to whatever was making him frown. If the Italian didn't speak of it, the Briton decided, he wouldn't pry.

"Ha, I can believe that!" Lovino responded haughtily, eyeing Arthur up and down indiscreetly before catching himself in the act. Flushing all the way down to his toes, he focused his eyes in front of him. "Your whole damn attitude reflects that. I've never had someone punch another bastard in the face at my _caffè _before... or seen anyone do that, for that matter." Strange, it feels like he's had this conversation before... only differently. The feeling, the aura, the exact atmosphere was just the same even though the words, he recalled, were different.

_You're too anal retentive to be a punk-ass delinquent._

When had he said that? To whom? Why?

It drove him insane; Lovino had never so much thought about his lost time that much until now—until he met Arthur. He remembered Antonio saying that it must not be important if he couldn't remember, but that was bullshit. It _was_ important—_is important—_but what made him forget? What had happened, and who would give him the answers? Feliciano obviously didn't know anything, and Antonio, for a dumb tomato bastard, wouldn't speak a word of it.

A glimmer of light in the night sky caught Lovino's attention. His hazel eyes followed the glowing red-orange flame as it joined a trickle of white light ripping through the sky, weaving in and out of the atmosphere, but said nothing. He knew that nobody else could see this but him. Not even Antonio or Feliciano could see the beautiful lights—more beautiful than the Aurora Borealis of the Arctic—nobody else but him and the spirits of the dead. He had heard of rumours back when he was young of his family members having extrasensory gifts—like his grandfather and his ultra sensitive intuition—but he had never believed it until now. The night after his brother had miraculously returned to him, thanks to Antonio's friend, "Arturo," he had noticed a strange ripple of light. It was like a stream or a river in the sky, but instead of water flowing, it was a multitude of colours from brown to red to orange to yellow to white—all joining together in one collective, cohesive mass. Some areas were denser than others, he had noticed, and some areas glowed brighter than others.

_It's... like the effect of bioluminescence in the ocean waters._

Was there someone else who had seen the same thing? It was possible, Lovino considered, since he had met someone—or something, something spectral—who had informed him what it was. He had kept the sight to himself, not trusting himself to be able to explain it to Feliciano or to Antonio, and was admiring the view one winter night when he was returning to his apartment after closing shop. Someone on the street had mentioned offhandedly, "It's beautiful, isn't it?" The stranger who had spoken was a young woman with silvery platinum hair and heterochromatic eyes, a mixture of blue and pink. Her skin was as pale as Death, and a scar ran across her cheek. She had smiled lopsidedly at Lovino, a casual grin as though she had met him before, before pivoting on the heel of her white boots. He would have mistaken her for a phantom had she not blatantly avoided a lamp post as she strutted down the street. "They're all souls, looking for a place to belong," she had explained leisurely in a lightly accented English, voice faintly German in essence, upon noticing that Lovino was walking in the same direction as her, sticking her hands into the pockets of her coat, which was just as long as the skirt that fell halfway to her thighs. "Just like you." Without so much of another word, she had left him to his own devices, continuing down the streets of Rome.

"What's eating you?" Arthur asked him, breaking the Italian out of his reminisce.

"Nothing," Lovino replied hastily.

"Rubbish," the blond remarked nonchalantly, a wry and bitter smirk on his lips. "You look depressed, git, so don't try to pretend that everything is okay. What's wrong? I might let a few things you hide slide by me, but this is one of the few things I won't allow—not that I'm worried or anything." He mentioned the last bit hurriedly with fluster growing more and more prominent on his cheeks, reddening them to the colour of a dark cherry. If something was making Lovino worry this long, it must have been a grave matter; he couldn't let it go now.

"Why do you care anyway?" the Italian grumbled under his breath.

"It bothers me now that it bothers you," Arthur replied collectedly, rolling his eyes. "Besides, you let me talk earlier; now it's your turn. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth—story for story."

Lovino scoffed. "That's lame, bastard," he muttered. Still, he let himself believe that the Briton truly cared and began, "You know how, earlier, I said that I couldn't remember anything about an entire week? That all happened four years ago; one day I woke up—well, one night—and couldn't remember jack. An entire week passed in the blink of an eye, and I don't know how. Nobody would tell me anything—not anyone who knows." Lovino pursed his lips together, unsure of how to continue, and then sighed. He might as well confess. "Antonio, my cousin, said that maybe it wasn't important if I couldn't remember. Normally, it didn't bother me that much since it was only a week, but, lately, it's been coming back to haunt me... Maybe it's because it's around that time again—the time when that weird amnesia episode happened."

The Italian glanced at his new companion and found a strangely solemn expression in Arthur's visage, clouded with conflict, sorrow, and misery in his dulled emeralds. "Maybe," he suggested reluctantly, speaking as though it pained him to utter the words slipping past his lips, "your cousin was right. Maybe it wasn't so important; maybe you don't need to remember it. Maybe it's better that way."

"H-Hey, you okay, bastard?"

A single tear had unknowingly dripped from Arthur's left eye, and he immediately blinked—repressing any more stray tears—before giving Lovino a wry smile. "Why wouldn't I be? I should be asking you that," Arthur responded calmly. Angling his head to the side, he pondered aloud, "For better or for worse, maybe one day it will come back to you—those memories." The blond stopped in front of _Caffè Roma_, the smile on his lips becoming softer, before he stretched out a hand to Lovino. Assuming that Arthur wanted to shake his hand, the Italian grasped it firmly, but instead of shaking, he was taken by surprise yet again when Arthur pulled him closer, wrapping an arm around his waist, and pressing kisses onto his cheeks—once on his left, another on his right. "Goodnight, Romano," he chimed quietly before pivoting on his heel.

Wait, what?

Lovino's feet wouldn't budge so much of an inch from their place on the pavement. Frozen into shock, he stood, stunned, watching Arthur's back fade into the distance.


	13. Chapter 12

**XII: From the Past**

"Damn, why the hell does everyone speak Italian?" Gilbert grumbled as he threw down the white cloth towel onto the bar counter indignantly, growing frustrated with his lack of understanding what people were saying here and there and everywhere else. He narrowed his red eyes at the wet rag as though it would disappear from his sight on the spot; that way he wouldn't have to do any more of this crap work. The albino huffed in disdain immediately, collapsing onto the bar stool and ordering a pint of Lovino's finest crap beer to go with his crap mood.

"Maybe because you're in _Italy_?" Lovino suggested offhandedly. "You said that you loved Italian culture and climate, so why don't you bother learning the damn language, you dumb albino bastard?"

"Why don't you relieve me of this job, Lovino?" Gilbert retorted, pouting when Lovino didn't bring him his beer.

"Because you and Mathias need to pay off your fucking tab," Lovino hissed in response. "I've let you slide for—what, three or four months—and you bastards still can't pay me what you owe! I've had enough! The two of you are on cleaning duty until your drinks are all paid!"

"Sounds like you have it rough," commented a familiar English voice. Lovino tensed immediately as he heard Arthur approach him and Gilbert, joining them at the bar, before ordering fluently in Italian—obviously showing off to the latter—a _caffè latte_ made with a base of masala chai and a shot of espresso. His eyes lingered over the menu before curiously ordering a single one of Lovino's scones. He obviously ordered dubiously, puzzled by why the Italian would have the item in his café. Perhaps it was to appeal to British visitors such as himself. "What did you use to bake them?" Arthur asked curiously, again in Italian simply to piss off Gilbert. His tactics were, without a single doubt, effective, seeing that the albino was now bristling with irritation and impatience.

"Olive oil, sun-dried tomatoes, feta cheese, and black olives," the barista answered shortly in Italian, still somewhat unnerved by the Englishman's sudden appearance, recalling what had happened last night, before shuffling to his beloved espresso machine and preparing Arthur's order. "They're pretty popular in the mornings for breakfast, but a good number of people order them in the afternoon as a snack. I'll give one to you for free as a sample."

"Is that okay?"

"Yeah, it's fine. I get more than enough tips to cover your damn scone anyway. It's not going to kill me if I give away one of them," Lovino remarked as he expertly brewed the masala chai tea from scratch. It had taken four years of practice, but he couldn't seem to give up on learning how to brew tea even though he knew that he would probably never drink the beverage unless he was sick. He supposed it was to help improve his business—every little bit count, after all—especially since some tourists were tea-drinking bastards. "It'll take me about ten to fifteen minutes to prepare your damn tea though, bastard. You just had to be fickle, dammit."

Arthur cracked a smile and remarked, "Sorry about that, impatient git. I rarely drink coffee though. If it wasn't for the fact that I've a place to stay, I would have been walking around Rome forever looking for a place that serves tea."

"You live here?"

"Not quite," Arthur responded shortly. "I have... estate here, so to speak."

Lovino snorted. "Then maybe I really should make you pay for your damn scone if you have a house here and elsewhere."

"All across the globe, mate," Arthur confirmed in a playful tone, making it difficult to discern if he was joking or not. However, given their conversation from last night, Lovino assumed that the Briton must have been telling the truth. He did say, the brunet recalled, that he had subordinates and that his relatives coerced him into an arranged marriage. A part of Lovino hurt for him. Four years ago, he would have been in the same position as Arthur—unable to make any of his own choices—had _la famiglia_ accepted him as one of their own. Perhaps Lovino was actually fortunate that he had been chased out of the estate. "It looks like you're pretty busy," he added in English before kicking Gilbert's stool and nearly knocking the albino onto the floor. "Should you really be slacking off, insufferable, impossible, and ungrateful wanker?"

"He's right, bastard," Lovino snapped at the albino, tossing another dish rag at the head of silvery white hair. "Get to work, dammit!" Gilbert whined in protest like a beaten dog before eventually and reluctantly trudging back onto the floor to wipe more tables clean.

"What happened to Mathias?" Arthur asked of the Italian as he began to strain the beverage from the tea leaves. The blond could feel himself salivating upon catching a whiff of the delectable aroma wafting about the counter. The warm smell had stolen the attention of a few other clients as well, especially when Lovino had finished brewing the espresso and was began to pour in a shot or two into Arthur's chai latte, topping the beverage with frothed milk artistically designed. Lovino casually served the hot drink to Arthur, who smiled at the image of a skilfully crafted olive branch. He allowed the beverage to cool as Lovino soon fetched him one of the warmer scones. "You're pretty good at this."

"He's in the back washing dishes," Lovino responded coolly to Arthur's question, beaming with pride, as the Briton's compliment swelled his chest. "And I've had four years of practice—culinary school and coffee training and shit."

"Sounds like you've spent your time well after secondary school," Arthur mused with a subtle smile, which possessed the slightest glint of relief and fondness that rather baffled the Italian barista, "unlike those two lousy buggers under your care."

"Really, what are the bastards doing in Italy for the longest fucking time ever even though they can't even speak the damn language?"

"Maybe they feel guilty?" Arthur suggested offhandedly.

"For what?" Lovino remarked dryly. "Almost getting away with pulling off a dine-and-dash or whatever after three or four months frequenting this place?"

Arthur smiled bitterly. "I wonder," he mused weakly before taking a small bite of the scone. Lovino watched in anticipation for his response, studying the enlargement of his emeralds and the slow, tentative chews and the heavy gulp. "This is bloody delicious!" he exclaimed, quickly finishing off the rest much to Lovino's surprise. His heart began pounding faster as Arthur devoured the entire scone whole—or so it seemed—and asked for another one—or an entire dozen. Of course, moved by that beaming smile of his, Lovino couldn't help but oblige. Before he knew it, Arthur had Lovino lower all of his guards and reservations. The brunet was, once more, relaxed. In mere moments, they were chatting as though they've known each other for years, and Arthur more than occasionally—quite often, actually—dropped an offhanded compliment about Lovino's cooking, which only served to inflate the barista's ego. Of course, his compliments were quite discreet and elusive, smothered by sarcasm so that the brunet could barely discern them from his witty jokes, but they were there. Lovino could hear the warmth in his voice, and it eased him more than anything else.

He wondered if they were friends. He hadn't had any friends in a long time—not since secondary school. Everyone was either a bitch or a bastard or somewhat of a bitch or a bastard, after all. He didn't have anyone in particular with whom he was close other than his own brother and cousin, and that was only because they were the only family he had left. Lovino had no choice but to treasure and cherish them. Additionally, in the past couple of years, he had a few dates—an understatement from what Feliciano had claimed several times—but never had a steady girlfriend either, yet when he confessed all of this to Arthur, he didn't feel as embarrassed as usual. The blond regarded him with understanding and empathy, so Lovino assumed that he must have known how the Italian had felt, being from a privileged family and all. Before he was even aware of the time, his brother had returned to the café, greeted by Gilbert with a boisterous, "Feli-baby!" The younger Vargas always helped with the lunch shift after school, but then he realised that Arthur was still there and immediately became fascinated with yet another foreigner. Lovino noticed.

How long has it been? Maybe about three hours since Arthur walked into his shop?

Lovino's cheeks flushed immediately as his younger brother greeted him with a kiss on the cheek and stared at Arthur with wonder. The Briton returned the gaze with his own curiosity, and Lovino wanted nothing more than to avert the blond's eyes away from his little brother.

_Stop checking out my little brother, you nasty bastard._

_He's only—what?—sixteen years old. It's practically criminal. I would never do that!_

Lovino's jaw clenched. What the hell were with these memories? He couldn't seem to decide if he even wanted to remember them or otherwise!

"Ve, are you _Fratello_'s new friend? I'm Feliciano!" he asked in his broken and heavily accented English. He had never been as studious as Lovino, and his English was quite limited. However, Feliciano was more than able to communicate past the language barrier; people took to him like a moth to a flame.

"Good afternoon, I'm Arthur," the Briton responded with a polite smile, stretching out his hand for the younger Vargas to shake, speaking fluent Italian. Feliciano beamed and complimented his Italian, saying that it sounded perfectly natural as though he had spoken the language for _years_. Then he did what—well, in Lovino's opinion—was entirely unimaginable. Both Arthur and Lovino, actually, were taken by surprise when Feliciano leaned closer to the Briton to press two kisses on Arthur's alabaster cheeks. Lovino was seething with vitriolic anger boiling at the core of his being, burning his insides away to slowly reveal an unknown beast—even to himself—he has been harbouring.

"A friend of _Fratello_'s is a friend of mine!" Feliciano explained in a carefree manner before announcing that he would help with the lunch orders. "Hasta la pasta!" Lovino clicked his tongue in disdain as Feliciano disappeared into the back and noisily greeted Mathias in his broken English, "Hey, Mathias! How's it going?!"

"He's... eccentric," Lovino grumbled. In Italy, only close friends and family greeted one another like that. It was pretty awkward to do that to a stranger in Lovino's opinion—unless it was a pretty woman. "Damn artist types."

"Oh, believe me," Arthur responded with a shy smile, encouraging the brunet to look away from the counter top, "I know eccentric." His thoughts drifted to a most irksome Frenchman before focusing back onto the little Italian in front of him, who was narrowing his eyes at him. "W-What?"

"Why the hell is your face red? You like him—Felici, I mean?" Lovino grumbled. His brother always flirted with girls, but Lovino wouldn't put it past Feliciano to be interested in men either. Feliciano looked so much like a girl himself when he was younger; if one was to put him in a dress as a child, he would definitely pass as a little girl—a pretty cute one at that. Maybe he went through some kind of gender confusion, but who the hell knows? Nevertheless, that still was no justification for Arthur's reaction—girlish face or not.

That question only served to fluster the Briton, whose slightly tinged cheeks reddened deeply. "What the deuce kind of question is that?" he grumbled. "I told you that I already have someone I fancy, didn't I?"

"That doesn't mean shit," Lovino remarked snidely, rolling his eyes. "You could still check out someone's little brother and comment that he's cute."

"Yes, but that doesn't mean I'm _attracted_ to him!" Arthur returned heatedly, rubbing his face with a single hand repeatedly as though to remove red tinge with wear and tear. "Bloody hell..." Under his breath, he added in a soft voice that was nearly inaudible, "I'm only blushing because he looks just like you," that he thought Lovino couldn't hear. However, the Italian did, in fact, overhear the blond, and he was soon flushing with embarrassment.

"Don't you have something to do?" Lovino demanded wearily, propping a hand onto his hip as he glowered threateningly at Arthur. The Briton didn't appear to be the tiniest bit intimidated by the brunet. Instead, he smirked defiantly, challenging the Italian to throw him out of this café, and crossed his arms against the surface of the counter. Lovino blushed fervently, indignant and flustered, snapping, "What about that soul mate of yours?"

"I'm working on it," the blond answered smoothly, yet his words seemed to have cracked Lovino's heart. "He's a little stubborn though."

"That's great," Lovino grunted. "You two can butt heads all the time."

"It certainly makes living a tad bit more thrilling," Arthur retorted before asking Lovino for the time. The Italian responded by pulling out his phone and flashing the time in front of the blond, who thanked him shortly with a polite smile.

"You don't have a phone?" the brunet asked curiously. That was rare in the twenty-first century.

"Never had the need for one," the Briton responded nonchalantly with a shrug, the smile on his lips becoming wry. "Everyone who needs me always manages to track me down if I don't go into hiding. I normally don't receive very many visitors either. Gilbert and Mathias, along with a few other blokes, stop by my estate for a visit on occasion—not often."

"Aren't you..." Lovino wasn't sure how to phrase this. "Aren't you lonely?"

"Misery loves company," Arthur assured lightly. "I'm fine."

Lovino doubted that; Lovino doubted him.

"So why did you ask for the time?" the Italian inquired instead.

"No particular reason," Arthur replied weakly before glancing behind him. Lovino followed his gaze and thought he saw an odd shadow in the distance but attributed it to nothing more than an effect of the afternoon light. Standing onto his feet and telling Lovino that he ought to relieve his friend from child-minding duties, the Briton exited the café only after he was roped into another drinking session with Gilbert and Mathias. Lovino bit on his lower lip to prevent himself from making an outburst he might regret. He didn't need anything worsening this pain he felt in his chest the moment Arthur had left.

* * *

"_Fratello_, I'm going out with Roberto, Ludwig, Daisy, and Caterina now!" Feliciano announced as he bundled up his school bag and stepped out of the café, leaving Lovino with the rest of the cleaning. The older Vargas brother glared vehemently at his brother's back as he sauntered out of the café before sighing. Just let the idiot enjoy his college life while he still has one, Lovino chastised himself as he wiped the bar counter clean, even if he's hanging out with that creepy potato eater. The brunet honestly couldn't bring himself to like that _one_ strange bastard out of all of Feliciano's friends. Ludwig Beilschmidt was supposedly a transfer student from Berlin, studying Italian architecture at the same art institute Feliciano attended, but there was something about him that seemed rather off-putting. He didn't know why, but Lovino simply didn't like him. Even if he didn't know why, there wasn't any lack of reason in Lovino's defence. The bastard could never be straight with Lovino, for one thing, always walking around his questions and shit!

Anyway, it was Sunday night, and Lovino especially did not feel like opening the bar tonight when hardly anyone would drop by for a drink or two. Any prospective clients were either attending church or going back home for another day of work on Monday; any sane bastard wouldn't want a hangover on a Monday morning of all things.

Of course, even though Mathias and Gilbert both obnoxiously voiced their discontent with Lovino's decisions, the barista had mercilessly, ruthlessly, relentless, and maybe a little resentfully kicked them out of his establishment with a sharp and severe, "Chigi! Go home, you damn bastards!" only mere moments ago. He had then brushed the non-existent particles of dust off his hands and shuffled back into his shop to check inventory, clean up, and then lock up.

Once those tasks were accomplished, Lovino trudged along the streets of Rome back to his apartment. Since Feliciano wasn't going to be home, catching some late-night flick with his friends at the local cinema, the older brother figured it wouldn't hurt to go to bed first without cooking any dinner. Feliciano would probably catch a bite to eat somewhere—elsewhere, anywhere—with his friends. Probably pasta, Lovino mused, entertaining the thought, or maybe just popcorn and junk food. He had never understood how his brother, a gourmet ever since childhood, had degraded his tongue so drastically. At least he wasn't eating _fast food_; now _that_ would have been a nightmare.

Lovino has always cooked for his family once he was able. He's cooked for his parents and _Nonno_, for Feliciano, for Antonio, and for their most loyal subordinates, otherwise known as his grandfather's guardians, which only amounted to six individuals. Once Romulus Vargas had passed away, however, they felt no more attachment to the family they once loved—under _Nonno_'s control, Lovino reminded himself—and abandoned them entirely. In the end, Lovino realised that they no more loved the family than they loved Romulus Vargas. Some people were simply attracted to power and strength, neither of which Lovino himself possessed in his honest opinion. He was cowardly and a fool to believe that he could have inherited his grandfather's legacy. He couldn't even remember how Feliciano had returned to them, and it bothered him. It was normal to have gaps in memory, but it was more strange to have lost a week of time.

Because of that, he wasn't quite sure where to proceed into the future when Antonio advised him and Feliciano that they could live freely now. No longer was there any need for hiding, or so the Spaniard had said. All Lovino could do was cook, so that was all that he did for the past four years with his grandfather's inheritance—from his legitimate business as a creditor instead of that underground crap. Every single day he cooked and only for Feliciano and occasionally Antonio or his instructors until he could finally open his own business to support his remaining family. At least that was better than being alone.

He wondered if Arthur was fine with that—being isolated from everyone else. Wasn't he really lonely? The bastard had managed to dodge Lovino's question, but it bothered him more than anything else. He had adopted five children, he had an arranged fiancée, and he had a family that worried for him. That sarcastic bastard should have been anything but lonely—loved maybe, but not lonely—yet he seemed desolate at times, distressed, depressed, or despondent entirely. However, perhaps it was because of this lifestyle that he felt suffocated. It was like being force fed with a silver spoon. Privileged he might be, but there was no freedom at all in living with that sort of lifestyle. Lovino may have been the luckier one between the two of them even though he was caught up in a bunch of shit; at the very least he still had his family—his _real _family—at the end of the day. He wondered what Arthur had to comfort him—maybe his friends, maybe his five children—yet he still appeared... _lonely_. Lovino kind of felt sorry for the Briton.

_He's somewhat... isolated from the world—or the rest of it at the very least._

_He can't fall in love; well, it's more like he can't risk falling in love._

_This is the suspension bridge effect. You don't really love me, do you? You didn't want to kiss me. You were just so caught up in the moment that your heart mistook anger and fear for something else—something like love. It doesn't mean anything; it's not real. It doesn't exist, okay?_

With crushing defeat flattening his heart and his hopes, Lovino wished Arthur the best with finding and reconciling with his soul mate. That would be for the best, and then from there, they could find happiness together.

"Ah."

Lovino slapped a hand over his eyes, trying to force the tears rolling down his cheeks to retrace their progress and to suppress such a pathetic display of weakness. It didn't matter, he told himself. It didn't matter if Arthur has someone else. He's barely known the blond for even a day. It didn't matter if Arthur was in love with someone else. He already has priorities. It didn't matter if Arthur has a soul mate. It didn't matter at all...

Because Lovino really was in love with him.

"Dammit," the brunet cursed as he keeled, clutching his chest while wiping away his tears rapidly with the back of his hand. "Dammit, and it's the stupid anniversary of my fucking amnesiac episode, too. Dammit, dammit, dammit!" Why was this all happening now? Why was he starting to remember? Why was he so scared? Did he even want to remember? Lovino didn't know. Lovino wasn't sure. Lovino was, however, terrified and apprehensive all the same.

His breath hitched in his throat the moment he felt a cool metal press against his throat. He had lowered his guard. Was he being mugged? Panic overrode all other emotions, throwing his mind into chaos and pandemonium, as he automatically stiffened.

"Just my luck running into you," his assailant grumbled with a sneer in his malicious tone. "Do you remember what happened four years ago? The Boss died, and your name was next to inherit the family name. We chased your sorry ass out of the house, but we should have killed you on the spot instead of giving you a ten second head start." The _coltello a scotto_, or automatic-opening knife, pressed against his neck. It was an underling, no doubt, from times past. No higher-ranking members would have such an offensive weapon; they would have gone for something more damaging and more obscene. Lovino wished he had brought his own stiletto with him—or even that antique dagger hiding in his drawer. "You fucking killed your own family, traitorous bastard."

"I killed no one," Lovino spat indignantly under his breath, mustering as much courage as he could from his frayed nerves. "If anyone had betrayed someone, _Nonno_ was betrayed by you bastards, dammit." He winced slightly as he felt a sting against his neck. A warm fluid spilt from his neck, trickling down his flesh and staining the reflective metal of the blade. The Italian barista bit his tongue to prevent himself from saying anything more. What was important wasn't trying to win a completely useless and utterly pointless argument; he had to get out of here and avoid having his body discovered in an alleyway in the morning.

"You know what we had to go through?" the mobster hissed vehemently. "You little shit, when you ran away with your tail between your damn legs, do you know what the fuck even happened?"

"Like hell I know!" Lovino snapped, growing braver as he glanced around him in search of an escape. "I wasn't with you bastards the whole damn time, so how the fuck should I know?!" He tried glancing at the face of his assailant, but he only caught sight of a dark hood and grimaced. He was screwed, mouthing off to the offender when he hadn't even a clue of how to get away from the vicinity.

"Shut the fuck up!" he snapped. "They came after us, you know? Those hordes of demons that cleared the houses empty and killed every single one of the leaders—with their glowing eyes and their monstrous teeth! Some ripped limbs or drank blood, others crushed bodies or pulverised an entire building, a few burnt us—dead or alive—and used _magic_. Look at this!" He yanked the sleeve of his hood upward with his teeth, revealing charred skin and flesh burnt to a crisp black. "It won't heal! It can't heal! The damn doctors said that they've never seen anything like this! It's the work of _demons_!" He began to shudder and tremble as the memories haunted him like a soldier's trauma. For a moment, Lovino pitied him, but he hadn't forgotten about the knife pressed against his neck. "They did it in the name of their king, they said! I've heard them! I've heard them utter _your_ name! What _divine_ family?! You're a monster, so I'll kill you—just like how they killed us!"

Squeezing his eyes shut, Lovino waited for the assailant to do the deed. He couldn't risk being cut and possibly dying by pushing him away at the wrong angle, wrong timing. So many things could have gone wrong, it might have been better to let fate run its course. The bastard was insane, Lovino thought in that split second. There's no way that angels and demons could possible ex—

"Well, well, well," a infuriatingly calm voice tutted in a lightly accented yet perfectly fluent Italian, "what do we have here?"

Lovino peeked from underneath his eyelids and found a hand clutching the blade of the automatic knife. His eyes immediately widened as he spotted blood dripping from the edge of the blood. His saviour didn't seem to mind one bit at the injury he had sustained, however, and forced the knife away from Lovino's flesh.

_I feel that this has happened before..._

"I thought that, by Italian law, one was not permitted to have an automatic-opening knife outside of one's residence," his rescuer remarked dryly and icily. "I'll be confiscating this, by the way." With a single tug, the knife seemingly slipped from his assailant's grasp in one fluid motion. "You'd better get lost unless you want another scar to match the one on your left arm—only _I_ can do so much worse. You'd die from shock; I'm surprised you're still alive."

_He grasped onto the blade with his right hand, seemingly unaffected by the fact that it cut through his gloves and into the flesh of his hand, and extracted it from his left shoulder single-handedly._

The offender scrambled away from the newcomer on his ass, staring into the glowering emeralds with pure and utter trepidation in his eyes. He scurried away from the scene, and the automatic-opening blade nearly clattered to the ground. The man standing in front of him managed to grasp firmly onto the handle to prevent the single piece of evidence from dropping, however, and the dark crimson blood that dripped from the tip of the blade fell droplet by droplet onto the toe of a black boot.

_Wait, this can't be..._

"Arthur?" Lovino croaked, grasping onto the blond's injured hand. "Why the hell did you do that?" At this point, the brunet wasn't sure what he had meant by that inquiry. There were so many questions racing through his head, and he couldn't possibly vocalise all of them now. Still, Lovino wanted to ask him everything and question him about everything until the Italian understood everything perfectly, but—as the brunet soon came to realise whilst clinging onto Arthur's hand—this wasn't the time for that.

"Trust me when I say I won't die from something like this," Arthur responded, raising his bloodied hand, slipping it away from Lovino's hold, with a cheeky grin. "It's just a little scratch, luv. Nothing more than a flesh wound."

"Chigi! Like hell it is!" the Italian snapped before he pulled the Briton along gently by the hand to his apartment. The two of them strolled along the streets in silence, neither wanting to speak with such an atmosphere looming over their heads. "We have to get you cleaned up, dammit," he grumbled, fiddling with his keys before finally unlocking and opening the door to his abode. He ushered the blond inside before closing the door behind him and locking up.

While Lovino dashed across the floor to fetch the first aid kit in his bathroom, Arthur took his time to study his new surroundings of the typical Italian home with its modern and contemporary furniture and furnishings. His boots echoed against the wooden floor as he explored the Italian's new home with blatant interest. His gaze had just swept over the family photos on his window stool when Lovino called his name in that melodious voice of his. Arthur, lowering his guards in this new environment, turned to face the brunet with a tender smile on his lips. "Yes?" he responded.

"You were standing the whole damn time, bastard?" Lovino grunted gruffly, turning his face away to avoid displaying his embarrassment. "You could have sat down."

"It's fine. I wanted to have a look around. I hope I wasn't prying too much; I apologise if—"

"Just shut up and seat your damn ass on the couch, bastard," Lovino barked as he dropped the first aid kit onto the rectangular Italian leather couch. He himself plopped onto the couch and waited impatiently for Arthur to join him. Once the Briton settled across from him, Lovino wordlessly took his hand and began cleaning and disinfecting the wound with antiseptic and cotton balls. He expertly bandaged Arthur's hand with dressing and a strip of gauze bandage. Arthur watched Lovino's hands before his emeralds drifted to the slight cut on Lovino's neck. With his uninjured hand, he grasped hold of Lovino and pulled him forward. The brunet shrieked in surprise before tensing when he felt Arthur's lips brush against the skin of his neck.

Arthur's lips were warm, however, and soothing. His touch was gentle and tender, a sharp contrast to his typical sarcastic and aloof behaviour, and was enough to alleviate the tenseness that had stiffened Lovino's body. Again and again, Arthur kissed that wound chastely and innocently—like the soft fluttering of the wings of a butterfly—before reluctantly pulling away. Staring into his eyes, Lovino found a muddled mixture of shame and regret. "I'm sorry I couldn't have gotten there earlier," the blond apologised sincerely before he averted his eyes.

"It's not like you would have known."

"What if I did and was just too slow?"

"It's not your fault," Lovino stated firmly, grasping the blond's hands. "It's not your fault," he repeated, "and at least you had gotten there on time—or, at least, before it was too late... Why were you even there?"

"To save you, obviously," Arthur answered tersely.

"How did you know I was there?"

A bitter smile stretched across Arthur's lips. "A chain, I suppose? Or maybe, more like, a collar," he murmured vaguely, his hand ghosting over his chest where his heart was located. Lovino's own heart had skipped a beat as he recalled the mysterious pentacle that was seared into his flesh. Was it, perhaps, Arthur's doing? "Is it wrong to say that our souls are connected? Or maybe it's our hearts?" The blond hadn't seemed to notice that he was talking to himself, muttering under his breath, as his eyes became more and more clouded, exhausted and worn from his crazy stunt earlier. His eyes began to close, growing heavy and heavier, as his fine, fair lashes brushed against the porcelain skin of his cheeks. Lovino's heart pounded harder and harder as Arthur suddenly collapsed, catching the Briton in his arms.

"Arthur...?" Lovino whispered tentatively and tenderly. When he received no response, Lovino pressed a gentle kiss to his temple. "Thank you."


	14. Chapter 13

**XIII: Love Eternal**

Arthur woke to an unfamiliar setting. Stripped of his jacket and his socks and shoes, down to only his trousers and the cotton button shirt he had worn yesterday, the Briton was tucked underneath a quilted blanket—obviously made with care, he noted with a charmed smile—in the midst of a summer morning in the city of Rome. His eyes flickered about the room, taking in its white walls and wooden floors and modern (or maybe it was contemporary) furniture, before swinging his legs over the side of the couch. Ah, he remembered now, grasping his head as it throbbed with a mild pain in comparison to the knife wound he had inflicted upon himself. It seemed like only a few days ago that Lovino had admonished him about being irrational and reckless—especially when it came to involving himself in life or death matters—when in truth it was four years ago.

Although the pain was comparable to a child scraping his knee, it still stung; being a simple scratch for an ancient demon like him, however, most of it was already healed. What hadn't regained itself was the strength and energy he had exhausted. Four years wasn't nearly enough to cover the spent magic he had used to incinerate the entirety of his uncle's body—ensuring his erasure—as it was his own life essence, what could be considered the equivalent of a living soul, that he had utilised to execute the task. Even for the King of the Underworld, erasing the existence of a high-ranking demon was a difficult task—especially when the strength of such a demon rivalled Arthur and Alistair's own. Then there was also the matter of Patrick's black flames lingering in Arthur's body like a parasite or poison slowly corrupting what remained of his life essence. It took all four years to extract Patrick's life essence from his body; after all, there shouldn't be two people living in only one shell. In addition, he had exerted more energy to cross the dimensions and to teleport from Tokyo to Rome, both of which were outside the centre of his international pentagram, making teleportation a little bit more difficult.

Not to mention, clutching at his chest, this contract that bound the two of them usurped quite a bit of energy as well when confirming Lovino's well-being. Honestly, it would have taken him another couple of months to recuperate properly, but Arthur didn't have any more time to waste seeing that Lovino only had so many more years ahead of him.

He wasn't sure if Lovino was all right mentally though, so his attention drifted immediately to the barista still locked up in his bedroom. Standing on his unsteady feet, he lumbered across the living room, gradually regaining his footing, and stumbled into the hallway. Arthur leaned against the threshold of the bedroom door and raised a hand to knock tentatively before halting his progress in mid-air. Maybe it was better to let Lovino to rest properly. He _did_ have a rough night. Dropping his hand to his side, Arthur rested his back against the wall of the hall and slid onto the floor in a crouching position. He wondered if Lovino ever regretted meeting him—if all of this was just too much trouble—and the moment the possibility crossed his mind, his chest began to ache painfully—much more painful than any other wound that he has ever sustained. It throbbed with a most miserable agony as though nightmarish claws dug into the muscles and tissues compromising his heart, scratching and mutilating its physiology, and tugged and yanked painfully at his heartstrings every which way.

Right, Arthur mused glumly and gloomily, since nobody _normal_ would want to get involved with the bloody occult. Maybe it would be better for Lovino if I—and everyone else who has been nosing into our damn business—just disappeared. It would definitely be safer, and it would be what Romulus Vargas would want as well were he still alive. Lovino wasn't supposed to have any connections to the Underground now, and the Underground is very much a part of the Otherside—just like me. Then about this ruddy contract... I'll figure out a way to nullify it... eventually, and I'll have to marry Marianne in the end anyway. At least the children like her.

Now I just need to tell bloody Gilbert and Mathias to stay away from Lovino as well.

Arthur pushed himself off the floor and lumbered back into the living room to recollect his items, slipping on his socks and stepping into his shoes. After throwing his jacket over his arm, he exited Lovino's flat and, with a snap of his fingers, locked the door securely. Just as he was about to make his way down the pavement to his manor, he encountered the coppery haired Vargas brother holding paper bags of groceries and art supplies right at the front door. Straining a smile, the blond greeted Feliciano politely, who in turn greeted him cheerfully with a beaming grin. "Is _Fratello_ awake yet? He always sleeps in, which is bad for the business, ve!"

"Not yet," Arthur answered honestly, keeping up his gentlemanly mannerisms despite his exhaustion.

"Ve, I see! I'll go see! How's your hand? _Fratello_ told me that you saved him last night! How brave!" Feliciano exclaimed merrily. From the sheer volume of his voice, the blond feared that he might have awoken Lovino from his sleep and thus glanced at his beloved's bedroom window fearfully. When he saw no movement, he allowed himself to relax some but resolved to escape from the vicinity quickly. "We have to thank you somehow! Would you come over for dinner tonight? Oh, wait, we'll working in the café... I guess you could come over then! It'll be fun!"

"I appreciate the offer, lad," Arthur responded quickly. Maybe his reply was a tad bit hasty, but Feliciano didn't seem to notice. Continuing with his excuse, the blond explained himself, "I have something to do this evening."

"Ve, that's too bad... Well, there's always next time! _Ciao_, Artù!"

Arthur took to the streets like a fish to water, strolling all the way to his manor and bursting through the doors. Alfred and Matthew were quick to greet him, and he returned their greetings wearily with exhaustion prominent in his green eyes. When Kiku came to welcome him back to the manor, the blond ordered him to send a mass message to the Four Lords to pull out of Rome. Any and every daemon of the Underworld was restricted from the city—not that it was a difficult task in itself. Daemons from the Underworld hardly ever wandered near Rome because of the close proximity to the Vatican. Nevertheless, there were a few exceptions—like hellhounds on patrol and revenants wandering where they shouldn't be.

"Is something the matter, _mon cher_?" Marianne inquired as she escorted him to the Tower with Angelique and Jia Long following close behind her, each child carrying a tray—one with small cakes and biscuits, the other with a tea set for two. "_Qu'est-ce que se passe_?"

"Nothing," he answered brusquely. "I'm just securing Romulus Vargas' request."

"His request? _Cher_, you've finished all of that four years ago!"

After Angelique and Jia Long placed the two trays on top of a makeshift table formed by a collection of mounds of grimoires and tomes, Marianne closed the door behind them and leaned against its surface to prevent Arthur from escaping her questions. She narrowed her eyes dangerously at Arthur and remarked, "Something is wrong. Ever since you've gotten to Rome, you haven't stopped looking after Romano, but now you've retreated."

Arthur shuffled through his multitude of grimoires, tomes, and spell books in the innumerable shelves lining the walls—all of which stretched to the ceiling—to avoid meeting with Marianne's amethyst eyes, and the succubus sighed at her fiancé's restlessness. Realising that he was testing her patience and that all she wanted to do was help him, Arthur paused in his actions and collapsed into the chair at his study.

"I've never loved anyone so much that it hurts," Arthur mumbled softly. Marianne had to strain her ears to hear him speak but eventually caught the words slipping past his lips. "Not with Guinevere, not even with you..."

"You've loved me?"

"Like a sister," Arthur answered quietly as guilt crept over his features. "I've admired you for a long time as one of the strongest women I've known—you and Isabel and Julchen and Amelia and Chiara and Alice. All of you have very strong, very prominent personalities."

"But you don't love us—not any one of us."

"Not in the way that I love him," Arthur admitted.

"I don't think I'm the one who should hear this, _cher_."

"I can't tell him—not any more. He doesn't remember."

"You can't just give up on him," Marianne insisted, "if you love him so much."

"I don't want to," Arthur agreed, "but I have to."

"_C'est des conneries, _Arthur!"

"A daemon cannot fall in love with a human, Marianne. It's dangerous for both parties," Arthur seethed bitterly. He knew fairly well that his sharp tone was not directed to Marianne, however. He knew he had no reason to be angered with her; instead, his vexation and vindictiveness was all centred on Arthur himself. He didn't want to make this decision either, but what other choice did he have? In this fashion, none of the parties would be hurt, and life would continue as it was meant and as it would. "You should know; you've seen what's happened to your Patron."

"But he does not regret it!" Marianne snapped adamantly. "There is no rule stating such either, and you know _that_ as well—being king, _n'est-ce pas_? You will be miserable for the rest of your life if you do not pursue this forbidden love of yours, and I—for one—do not want a miserable husband! It makes my long life meaningless and exhausting!"

"If I want to protect him, I have no choice!" Arthur insisted. "He's just going to end up hurt again and again and again! It's an endless cycle, and it'll simply happen over and over and over!"

"If he's going to be hurt, then save him, protect him, _cherish him_, Arthur!" Marianne persisted. "Do not throw him aside! You are _not_ weak, and you _can_ protect him. The question is _will_ you? Life will _always_ place obstacles in your path, hindering you from reaching your dreams, Arthur, but that is how you know that you are _alive_! You may have forgotten after all of these years as a demon prince and a King of the Underworld, but now it is time for you to remember how _to live_!" Her eyes watered, and her voice cracked, losing its strength and confidence, growing desperate and despondent. "It's okay to do that to me—to throw me aside—because you may not love me as your fiancée, but do not do that to him if you truly love him as your soul mate. I cannot stand being humiliated this way, Arthur. I refuse to be a queen who is not worshipped by her husband."

"Marianne... I'm so sorry..."

"Do as you please," she spat viciously at him, wiping away at her tears with the back of her hand, "but understand that it's not only your life that will have to bear the consequences of your decisions. If you drag me with you, then I may not be able to find my own soul mate as well."

"Wait, you've—?"

"Oho!" she laughed haughtily, rolling her amethyst eyes, regaining her earlier composure as though she had forgotten about what had upset her. "Two can play at the affair game, _cher_! Some marriage this will turn out to be if we continue down this path!"

Arthur smirked in response. "What? You've already found some poor bastard to sucker into your advances?"

"It's actually a cute little maid who spends her time reading away in your enormous library at the palace more than she does cleaning," Marianne remarked. "She's a cute little rose. It's hard to make her blush like you, but she is much more honest than you are."

"I've never realised you were bisexual," Arthur commented dryly.

"Succubus and incubus are attracted to beauty; gender does not matter in the affairs of attraction," Marianne retorted wryly, upholding the light-hearted conversation. If Arthur was well enough to joke around, then he must have come to some realisation. She would have to leave him to his thoughts since this was a relatively fragile state of mind of his. "I thought you would have known from Francis. He says that you are the most beautiful creature upon whom he's ever laid his eyes; I agree for the most part—very handsome, but not beautiful. My darling rose is beautiful."

"Don't remind me of that perverted wanker," Arthur grunted before flicking his wrist at his fiancée. "Go to your rose then. Why waste your time with me?"

"_Mais oui_, I wouldn't think of anything else!"

The Frenchwoman slipped out of the Tower, and slipping past the closing door, Kiku shut it silently behind him. "Your Majesty, I've informed the Four Lords, but therein lies a problem..."

"What is it?"

"Køhler-sama and Beilschmidt-sama refuse to leave Rome."

* * *

Lovino clenched his jaw as he angrily grounded his coffee beans. Mathias and Gilbert exchanged glances of bewilderment from beyond the counter, wondering what was wrong with their new friend, but made no comment—aloud, of course. They did exchange inaudible whispers Lovino couldn't overhear. That mattered little to him though. What was important was the fact that Arthur had just up and left the damn apartment! Where did the bastard think he was going? Then he had "something to do in the evening"?! What bullshit! If the giant and the fleabag were lingering around his café, then what could possibly occupy that sarcastic bastard's time?!

"Ah."

Lovino's hand stopped its ministrations.

Arthur was getting married in a month.

Obviously, that meant they had to plan some kind of ceremony... But Arthur didn't want to get married, did he? Arthur loved _him_, right? They were soul mates; their flames matched and shit. That's what his asshole of an uncle had said, anyway, before he had died. Lovino didn't see any reason for Patrick to lie about it, and Arthur certainly didn't deny the claim either. Did that mean it was true then?

"Wow, now he's _depressed_. Does he have bipolar disorder or something?" Gilbert inquired of Mathias, unaware that his question could be heard across the floor of the café. "Or is that something else?"

"You switch between manic and depressive states in bipolar disorder. I'm not sure if Lovino has that," Mathias corrected, "but you're definitely right about something being wrong with Lovino."

Where the hell was Arthur anyway? How come he hasn't shown up for breakfast or lunch? The blond did like his cooking, right? He said it was delicious the other day... Maybe he had already left Rome. Maybe he really was busy.

Dammit, he really wanted to see him again. It's been _four fucking years_, and nobody's said anything! Well, Lovino supposed that was because his memories were supposed to be erased. If that was the case, he wondered what the hell Gilbert was still doing here. He was the one who had advocated erasing Lovino's memories in the first place. Nevertheless, it really wasn't that bad to have his company around; he wasn't as bad of a guy as he made himself appear. The bastard had a lot of friends as well, and he cared a lot for Arthur. Maybe, just a little, Lovino could understand why he had made that decision in the first place even though it was clear that—back then—nobody really wanted to do anything to Lovino or his memories. He couldn't help but wonder what would happen if they discovered that his memories had returned last night though. Just as he began to ponder the possibilities, the Italian came to a startling realisation.

Lovino couldn't risk it.

That's why he spent the rest of the day pretending to be normal and avoiding any one of Gilbert's or Mathias' pestering and prodding questions. To the others, however, he had appeared anxious and nervous the entire day. He hadn't realised that his head was filled with thoughts of Arthur until he was well into the middle of cleaning the floor. Locking up shop, Lovino began to head home, only to bump into another man while he was preoccupied with his thoughts and where his thoughts should be headed, trying to direct the focus away from Arthur because, dammit, it hurt to be thinking about that frivolous bastard!

"Sorry," Lovino muttered quietly to the unsuspecting stranger. When he lifted his eyes, however, he froze immediately upon seeing lavender orbs and snowy blond hair. Even in Rome, this vampire was wearing a heavy winter coat and a knit scarf, dirtied and ragged after years of wear and tear. "You're—!" Lovino immediately bit his tongue, but he feared he had already given too much away.

"Ah, I remember you! You are King Arthur's lover, _da_? Do you remember me?" he asked in his accented English. Before Lovino could respond, the Count of the Vampires continued speaking, "It is shame you are not immortal. If that was case, we would not be in this situation. King has ordered travelling restrictions on Rome; we are evacuating all Underworld daemons. Foolish love it is, _da_?"

"I-I don't understand..."

"Silly boy," Ivan chided with that childish smile on his lips, unnerving Lovino more and more, "our king is ensuring that you will be having normal life as human. You want that, _da_?"

"I... I don't want a life without Arthur..."

"Then you must become immortal," Ivan concluded effortlessly.

"B-But how...?"

Ivan smiled wider before tapping his fangs with a forefinger. "Vampire bites can turn humans immortal no problem," he answered shortly before stepping closer to Lovino. The brunet instinctively took a step back. "You want to live forever, _da_?"

"N-No," Lovino stammered fearfully as his eyes widened slowly with trepidation as he was gradually overcome with horror. He didn't want to be a _vampire_. "I just want to live with Arthur."

"Does our king want to live with you?" Ivan returned casually. The smile faltered some, replaced by an expression of genuine curiosity and bewilderment. "I wonder why he restricted access to Rome if he does. It makes no sense, boy." After pondering for another moment, Ivan smiled again, revealing his white fangs. "No sense thinking about it either. Maybe if you get turned, you can live with our king as consort. I do not mind. Saves more time than erasing your memories it does!"

"Lord Braginsky!"

Ivan's progress was halted upon hearing someone call his name. He tilted his head to the side childish as he focused his attention on the person standing behind Lovino. Cautiously, the Italian turned his head to glance behind him and found two individuals standing there. One of them was a young man with shaggy hair a colour between light brown and strawberry blond and eyes the colour of red rubies. Perched precariously on the top of his head was a small top hat while a pearl earring pierced his left ear. Like Ivan Braginsky, he was dressed snugly despite the warm summer weather in a trench coat and boots. Beside him was one of the revenants Lovino recognised from Mathias' family, Lukas, dressed in a dull blue polo with a pair of white jeans secured by a dark leather belt and dark boatman shoes.

"Looks like you found the princess!" exclaimed the red eyed young man as he bounded towards the Count of the Vampires. "We still have to look for Lord Beilschmidt and Lord Køhler though! We don't have time to waste—King's orders!" As he passed Lovino, he gave the brunet a little wink before linking arms with the older vampire and resuming, supposedly, their search for the Head Alpha and Chief.

In the meanwhile, Lukas approached the silent Lovino and remarked in crisp and clear English, "You're an idiot."

Lovino clicked his tongue and scowled, tearing his eyes away from the blond. "What the hell do you know?"

"That you were tempted by Braginsky's offers of immortality," Lukas answered without missing a single beat. "Do you want me to tell you something that you don't know?"

"What, bastard?"

He allowed a small smirk to creep onto his lips, breaking his monotone expression, but still answered in a deadpan, "If he had turned you, you would have died first. Then he would have to offer you some of his own blood to revive your body, but it only works if your soul hasn't left your body yet. There was a fifty percent chance that you would have remained dead, and even if you had survived and been reborn as a vampire, you would have been one of Braginsky's fledglings. That's how it all starts, and it takes at least three or four hundred years to break the bond between a master and his vassal. Immortality isn't a damn joke, you idiot."

"So what do you suggest I do, dammit?"

"Talk to Arthur," Lukas responded offhandedly as he shuffled down the streets of Rome, returning to his frank and curt style of speech. "He would know."

"Know what, bastard?"

"That you remember," Lukas replied shortly. He didn't slow his pace to allow Lovino to catch up with him. He didn't so much turn to look at the Italian either. "The situation would change."

"Like what?"

"Like this shut-down," Lukas remarked dryly, rolling his eyes.

"He loves you like crazy, you know?" a new voice spoke from the shadows. Lukas immediately halted in his steps and pivoted on his heels to glare at the newcomer. Mathias stepped away from the wall against which he was leaning and grinned cheekily at Lukas and Lovino.

"_Anko_!" Lukas hissed vehemently.

"Hey, Lukas!" Mathias greeted them merrily as though nothing was wrong at all. He began walking in the direction in which Lukas and Lovino were heading, and the latter two followed after him to keep up with his pace. "It's true, you know? He wouldn't be driving himself insane for no reason. I'm assuming you know everything now; I'm not as dumb as you think—Gilbert, too. We wouldn't be Lords if we were; you were acting strange this morning. Then we got word from Arthur about this shut-down and decided, nah, let's not leave this joint when there's still so much to do." His grin softened into an encouraging smile. "Sorry about what happened four years ago, Lovino. Everyone was scared about you being in the Underworld; it was mortifying for the conservatives. It might be forbidden for a human and a daemon to love each other, but it's not impossible. Cambions are the proof of that, right?"

"That, or lust," Lukas remarked at Lovino's side. The brunet was now stuck between the two revenants. "Arthur might be a closet pervert."

"Well, yeah," Mathias admitted begrudgingly with an awkward shrug of his broad shoulders. "Anyway, I'm on your side! That's why Gilbert and I stayed back. You understand, right, Lukas?"

"Still don't like it," Lukas responded bluntly, crossing his arms. "So what now?"

"Well, we can't risk turning him," Mathias muttered under his breath as he scratched his head with a single finger, trying to conjure a solution to remedy all of their problems. "It's dangerous if a vampire does it. Lovino's soul is probably too good to be barred from Heaven _and_ Hell if he's Arthur's soul mate, so he can't become a revenant like us. He can't become a werewolf since he's not a warrior—or warrior material—to be made into a Gatekeeper like Gilbert and the others. That leaves signing your name into the Black Book, but like hell Arthur's going to let you do that."

"Why not? He doesn't have to know, right?" Lovino inquired dubiously.

"No, it's called the Devil's Black Book of Names for a reason," Mathias responded pointedly with a sigh of disappointment at a lack of solution. "You try to summon a familiar, and if you succeed, then your name is automatically submitted into the Black Book because the Scribe keeps track of _everything_ related to magic. He's like a historian or a record keeper. The Black Book is actually one of Arthur's belongings since he _is_ the Devil; that way he knows who's a witch or a warlock."

"Why? It makes everything sound more complicated..."

"It's like Santa's naughty or nice list," Mathias responded casually with a shrug. "Only in this case the question is who gets to go to Hell or gets to be reborn. It also helps with regulating the universal balance and all of that complicated stuff."

"So getting my name into this Black Book," Lovino concluded, "would mean I could become immortal... but Arthur would know about me signing my name, and that would ruin everything."

"Knowing him," Mathias deduced, "he'll erase your name from the list and make sure that you stay human."

"Why?" Lovino whispered. "He doesn't want me to stay with him?"

"It's not that," Lukas interjected shortly. "He doesn't want you to relinquish your humanity. That's how witches and warlocks become immortal; they're no longer humans. There is another option, however."

"What would that be?" Mathias pressed curiously. The three of them stopped in front of Lovino's apartment. The brunet hadn't even noticed that they were escorting him home, but now he felt uncomfortable as they stared at him unlocking his door with his silver key.

"The Elixir of Life," Lukas answered shortly.

Mathias roared with laughter, inviting himself into Lovino's apartment the moment the Italian managed to unlock his front door. He seemed unaware of Lovino's grunt as he had unknowingly crashed his arm into the smaller man's shoulders and just as obliviously continued with his remark, "You know that doesn't exist even in the Otherside! Elixir of Life! Can you believe this guy, Lovino? He's such a joker!"

Lovino grumbled indignantly under his breath after Lukas followed Mathias inside the apartment, "How should I know if I can believe him, bastard?" The Italian closed the door firmly behind him and locked it with a satisfying click.

"Now that we're here," Mathias boomed, "no vampire can come uninvited! Just don't open your door throughout the night, and you'll be safe by morning! Vampires can't _stand_ sunlight!"

The frown hadn't slipped from Lovino's lips. "What were you saying about this Elixir of Life?" he asked of Lukas without a moment of hesitation. "What is it?"

The smaller of the blonds seemed indifferent by Lovino's question, taking to the leather couch immediately, and began to flip through the channels of the TV, cruising idly and giving only a hint of a frown when he realised all of the programmes were in Italian. When Lovino was about to bark at him, Lukas responded once his succinct curiosity subsided, "It's exactly what the name entitles. It's an elixir that grants everlasting youth and infinite life, but just as _Anko_ had said, it's practically a myth. If it was that easy to make the Elixir of Life, almost every mortal would try to get their hands on it—the power hungry ones, at least."

"So it does exist?" Lovino inquired further.

"In theory," Lukas answered nonchalantly. "But it's difficult to make."

Mathias posed his own question to prevent Lovino from asking if the younger Viking could produce such an elixir, "Without the Philosopher's Stone, that is?"

"Right," Lukas confirmed just had coolly and collectedly.

"Philosopher's Stone?" Lovino repeated.

"A tiny little rock that is said to be able to transform even lead into gold, create a universal panacea, and grant a life of immortality," Mathias explained with a weak smile. "Humans have been searching for it for centuries—alchemists, namely—but there's been a decline since the seventeenth, eighteenth century. It might as well be another myth, but several mages from the Underworld and witches and warlocks from the Surface World alike consider its existence to be real."

"Is it real?" Lovino questioned sceptically.

"You can make one," Lukas answered. Reclining in the couch, he added, "It just takes a long time to perfect. Not everyone can make one. Again, it's not that easy. If it was, then everyone would have one."

"Can _you_ make one?"

"It depends," Lukas remarked dryly, focusing his lifeless eyes on Lovino. Despite the fact that both Lukas and Mathias were revenants, reanimated corpses, the smaller of the two Vikings appeared empty of emotions, serving as a stark contrast between the two revenants, and it unnerved Lovino. When the blond noticed that Lovino was expecting more of an answer, a sort of clarification, the younger Viking sighed and continued, "Can I possibly make a Philosopher's Stone? I can, but the chances of it actually being a genuine Philosopher's Stone is slim—less than one percent. There is also the question if I am willing to risk my existence in the afterlife for your messy little love life." When a baffled expression overcame Lovino's face, Lukas remarked, "There's a reason why only a few mages undertake such an experiment. It's a matter of equivalent exchange; what will you risk for such a powerful but 'tiny little rock,' as _Anko_ had put it? Sometimes the sacrifice is not enough, and the transmutation ends in failure as well as loss."

"Right, the success rate is pretty low," Mathias recalled as he plopped onto the couch as well. "If I remember correctly, a lot of Emperors from the East died from elixir poisoning."

"It's because they were putting things like mercury and liquid gold into it," Lukas grumbled. "What idiots... You'd think they'd realise that the ingredients come from the Otherside, but, even then, they're difficult to gather." He turned to Lovino, arching an eyebrow, and asked, "So? What will you do?"

Lovino pursed his lips together and responded slowly, "I... I don't know, dammit."

"Well, for starters, how about you take your head out of your arse and think properly, you daft little git?"

Lovino whirled on his heel and found Arthur glaring vehemently at him, Mathias, and Lukas. "H-H-How d-did you—?"

"I said that vampires can't enter a residence uninvited, but I didn't say the same applied to demons," Mathias remarked sheepishly before he stood up and snatched Lukas by the hand. "See you around, Lovino, Arthur! We're going to meet with our brothers to scare some thugs into wetting their pants!"

"Hurry up and get out of Rome while you're at it, you bleeding wanker!"

"No can do! Not until you change your mind! This is a sit-in!"

With that, Mathias and Lukas disappeared into the night. Arthur crossed his arms in front of Lovino, hardening his emeralds at an absolutely terrified Italian. "Immortality is no joke, Lovino," he hissed. "I can't believe you were considering something like that! I sensed that you were in danger, so I came rushing and bumped into Vladimir in the way! You know what he told me? You were almost turned by bloody Ivan Braginsky! Are you an idiot? No, don't answer that; I don't want to hear it."

"I had to do something!" Lovino snapped. "You were going to get _married_, you bastard! I can't do anything if I'm just a human, can I? I know how powerless I am, okay? I realised that four years ago when you were... you were lying there, helpless and dying, in a pool of your own blood, and I couldn't do anything." His body wrecked with tremors, and he was unable to control the shuddering of his shoulders. He hid his eyes behind his right hand, not wanting Arthur to see the tears dripping from his eyes. Dammit, he didn't want to _cry_. He didn't want Arthur to see how weak he was, how powerless he was, not _again_, not like this. "You've protected me. You've _always_ protected me, but I can't do a damn thing for you. You're such a bastard! How come you're this hard to please, dammit?"

A cold hand firmly grasped Lovino's wrist, pulling it away from the Italian's tear-stained face, while another cupped his cheeks delicately. Forcing himself to raise his eyes, he met with Arthur's hard gaze as the blond expertly wiped away his tears with the pad of his thumb. His cool flesh brushed against Lovino's skin tenderly and adoringly despite his cool eyes. "I wasn't counting on you remembering," Arthur whispered softly. "I was prepared to give up on you, to give you a better life away from all of this..."

"Now what?" Lovino retorted snidely though his voice was weak and his own resolve was lacking. "I remember. Now what are you going to do about it?"

Arthur's eyes softened immediately. "What indeed?" he exhaled breathlessly, stilling Lovino's pounding heart. "I want to take care of you. I want to protect you. I want to treasure you and cherish you for as long as I live, through sickness and health, for better or poorer, until death do us part... And it breaks my heart knowing that you can die any moment; as a human, you're more fragile than I am. Look at me, I can take three stab wounds from a longsword and still live. I can grasp the blade of a knife without feeling much pain because to me it's like a paper cut or a scrape to the knee for a human. Still, even knowing the differences between us and our existences, I want to love you." He smiled weakly. "Isn't that ridiculous?"

"It's not," Lovino muttered just as quietly, slowly regaining his heartbeat. He rested his hands against Arthur's, grasping it tightly, "Because then that means I'm ridiculous, too. I'm not; I know I'm not. I know it's better if we went our separate ways, but I don't want to do that. I want to be with you—forever and ever. We... We promised, didn't we?"

_So stay with me! Explain everything I don't know to me! Be by my side forever and ever, got it?_

_Yes, of course. You have my word, my promise, my heart and soul—well, my essence, more like... You can have it all, Lovino. I'm a king, so you can have whatever you'd like. If you wish me to live, I'll live. If you wish me to live with you, then I'll do it; I'll stay by your side forever and ever._

"Are you going to go back on your word?" Lovino persisted bitterly. "Are you going to leave me?"

Arthur crumbled, collapsing to his knees and burying his face into Lovino's middle, wrapping his arms tightly around the smaller man's waist. "I don't want to," he whispered, clinging closer when Lovino threaded his fingers through his mousy blond locks. "I don't want to leave you. I don't want to lose you. I want to love you for the rest of my life—just you and only you. You're my soul mate, Lovino. Your flames are my own. I love you, but I want you safe."

"Then I'll stay at your side. There's no safer place," Lovino persevered, falling to his knees as well and resting Arthur's head against his shoulder as he buried his face into the unruly strands of pale gold. "I love you, too, bastard, more than anything else in the world. I never want this to end. No matter what happens, I'll support you, so protect me and keep me safe—treasure me and cherish me for as long as we live. Do we have a deal?"

Their chests tightened as Arthur nodded his head.

"It's a deal."

Arthur pulled away from the embrace and held the sides of Lovino's face gently, bringing his lips forward to meet with Lovino's plush lips, locking them together in a chaste kiss. The brunet couldn't suppress a smile and returned the kiss with much more vigour and passion, and the demon deepened their kiss, confirming their contract. They moulded together, pressing closer and closer, and when that contact was not enough, Lovino hastily clutched at the fabric of Arthur's clothes, tearing them away. The blond hurriedly reciprocated his actions, distracting the younger man by fluidly slipping his tongue between Lovino's parted lips and dominating the Italian entirely, eliciting a wanton moan from the brunet. However, when Lovino's head fell back, overwhelmed by the sudden intensity, he made contact with the wall behind him and winced, accidentally clamping down on Arthur's tongue. The Briton hissed in pain as the bite drew blood and immediately pulled away.

"Shit! Are you okay, bastard?"

"Bloody hell, I thought you were going to sever my tongue," Arthur muttered, sucking the excess blood from his wound and nursing his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "Never mind me, you all right?" His eyes widened as he saw a faint trickle of blood slip past the corner of Lovino's mouth. "Oh no... Oh no, no, no, _no_!"

"_Che cazzo_?" Lovino inquired as panic and fear slowly overwhelmed him.

"Do not swallow any of my blood, understood?! Spit it out right now!" Arthur demanded immediately, holding out his hand for Lovino to spit the traces of his blood.

"What the hell, bastard?!"

"Don't question me! Just do it! That's _demonic blood_, Lovino! Do you understand the gravity of the situation? Less talking! You'll contaminate your saliva and swallow it by accident!"

"Dammit, you fucking bastard, _now_ you tell me?! I've already swallowed some of that shit!"

"_What_?"

"It was instinct! If something is in your mouth, you either swallow or regurgitate it!"

"Why didn't you do the latter?!"

"I don't fucking know!" Lovino's anger subsided to give way to fear. "S-So what's going to happen now?"

"Oh, bloody hell, I don't know," Arthur confessed, pulling Lovino into his arms. "This has never happened before... At best, your body can fight off the intrusion because there's _magic_ in my blood—supernatural forces—and it senses that it's abnormal. Hopefully, you've only swallowed an insignificant amount, nothing that can cause any real damage, but... worst case, your body cannot defend itself, and my blood poisons you. Dammit, this isn't... this wasn't supposed to happen."

"I'm still alive, aren't I?"

"It could be slowly acting..."

"Then sleep with me." Arthur's eyes met with Lovino's determined gaze. The Italian smiled wryly. "Until death do us part, remember?" Lovino's fingers traced the matching pentacle on Arthur's chest, placed right over his heart. "We're bound by this contract anyway. You'll have my soul, won't you? Keep it safe for me." Lovino leaned closer and pressed another chaste kiss onto Arthur's lips. "Come on, lover boy," the Italian teased with a confident smile on his lips. He stood onto his feet and led Arthur by the hand. "My bedroom is this way."

"Is this really the time, Lovino? This is serious! Nobody knows the after-effects of swallowing a demon's blood, _especially_ fucking blue blood," Arthur reasoned, his voice choking, as he stumbled behind Lovino in the hallway. "It can kill you; my blood can kill you. We should find Yao Wang as well as my brothers and Lukas and Vladimir and figure out what will happen from here!"

"You bastard," Lovino snapped firmly, demanding absolute obedience, as he pulled his lover into his bedroom, "nothing is happening. I feel fine. Maybe you're just overreacting."

"I think I ought to be since you're not!"

"If something does happen," Lovino insisted, "then I want to be with you when it does. Is that too much to ask for? We have a contract, Arthur. This is my request: I want to be with you until the end, dammit." His eyes flashed dangerously, closing the bedroom door behind him and leaning against it to reaffirm his decision. He threw his arms around Arthur's neck, pulling the demon closer and locking their lips together. His tongue brushed against Arthur's lips, secretly asking for access, tasting the faint metallic sensation of his blood, lukewarm and sickly sweet as it was. "Please, just let me be with you. I want to love you, too."

Arthur kissed back gently—once, twice, three times more—and inhaled his scent sharply, wrapping his long, lean arms around Lovino's shoulders and snaking them around the Italian's waist. "My love is rather dangerous. Are you sure? I won't go easy on you."

"The same goes for me, you bastard. It's been four years; I've been waiting for you for four years even though I had no idea who the hell I was waiting for," the Italian whispered sensually in his lover's ear. "I've always been trying to remember; I've always known it was important. I'm never letting this go, _capito_? Now it's my turn to say this: if you want me to live, I'll live. If you want me to stay with you, I'll stay with you forever and ever. I won't die and leave you alone, bastard. Not here, not now, not like this. Who's going to take care of you when I'm gone? I'm not letting anyone else have you; you're mine, _mio angelo prezioso_."

Arthur chortled lowly, his breath tickling the shell of Lovino's ear, before he whispered, "That's quite a confession, my darling little spitfire. All right," he pressed a kiss to Lovino's temple, "I'm taking you with me—no matter where I go—beyond Earth, beyond even Heaven and Hell—to our paradise. I won't ever let you go—never again."

The blond wrapped his arms around Lovino's waist, cupping his bottom and forcing the younger to snake his legs around Arthur's hips, and locked their lips together in another dangerous kiss. While Lovino was entirely distracted, the Briton carried him over to the bed, dropping the Italian onto the mattress without further ado. The brunet narrowed his hazel eyes at the sudden treatment before his vengeful visage dissipated with yet another kiss. Arthur's lips brushed against his own before trailing down to his jaw, tracing his cheeks, and nibbling at the flesh behind his ear that connected to his neck, marking the young man as his eternal lover.

He relished those wanton moans and heavy breathing and lewd pants. Again and again, he kissed Lovino's exotic flesh, marking every surface of his body within his reach, relentlessly and mercilessly. However, in spite of his aggression, the brunet could feel it—the tenderness and adoration in his touches and caresses—and he revelled in Arthur's endless love throughout the night, bathing in it, soaking in it, drowning in it, embracing it and welcoming it with his own arms, until he fell asleep in Arthur's tender embrace.

Emerald gems flashed with concern.

"I can feel it, you know?" Arthur whispered to his sleeping lover. "I am a demon, after all. I can sense these sorts of things, my little spitfire. I can feel your life energy, the essence of your being, you know?" Tears blurred his vision as he buried his face into Lovino's rich, silky hair. A shaky exhale and a choked sob wrenched from his throat as he murmured underneath his breath into the silence of the night, "I can feel it slipping away from you."

He pressed another kiss to Lovino's forehead and sensed a faint trickle of energy slipping from his being into the other's. Arthur closed his eyes and hoped that he wouldn't mess this up. Just this one spell. One more time. This was crucial. Please, please, _please_...

"You better not die on me, spitfire. I'm not through with you yet."

* * *

**A/N:** Thank you for all of your support up to this point! This is the second to last chapter, so I wonder what will be of Lovino now!


	15. Chapter 14

**XIV: Endless Myth**

Arthur shifted on the bed as day began to break through the blinds in Lovino's bedroom, rolling onto his side to obtain a better view of his beloved spitfire. He rested his head in the palm of his right hand, his elbow digging into one of Lovino's soft pillows, which mounded to fit the sharp jut, as a gentle smile graced his lips. With the fingers on his left hand, he began tracing the features of Lovino's face, from his jawline to his cheekbones, brushing aside several stray stands of rich brown hair. "Beautiful," he whispered breathlessly. When hazel eyes fluttered open, a charmed smile stretched across Arthur's lips. "How are you feeling?"

"I told you I wouldn't die," Lovino grumbled, burying his heated face into the pillows. "You worry too much, bastard."

"Of course I do," Arthur responded curtly. "I never know what's going to happen with you, after all. Now why are you hiding your face?"

"Because you were staring."

"I was not! A gentleman never stares; I was only counting how many frown lines you have," Arthur retorted. "You should try smiling more. It makes you look even more beautiful."

"Chigi! You're such a bastard, dammit!"

Arthur smiled. "Looks like you're doing well, you sensitive git. I mean it though; you look beautiful when you smile."

"You're such a dick. Anyway, I'm still alive. Isn't that good enough?"

"I'd hate it if you were poisoned because of me."

"You wouldn't hurt me; you're too nice even if you are a sarcastic bastard." Lovino raised his head from the pillow and stared directly into Arthur's eyes. "I feel like you've done something though. I mean, if you were making such a big deal out of it last night, then why the hell are you so calm now? What did you do?"

A low chuckle escaped from Arthur's lips as amusement broke into his eyes. Lovino flushed upon realising that he was admiring the brightly glowing emeralds blatantly and averted his gaze. "Looks like I was caught," he mused aloud before shifting his position, resting his head on his arm instead and pulling Lovino closer to his bare chest with his other arm. "Once you fell asleep, I worked some healing magic on you because, well, I felt your life energy being sucked away. It was a gradual decay, but I could still sense it. Then I figured if I could increase Carriedo's lifespan about ten years ago when he was diagnosed with cancer I could do the same for you—even if it meant breaking the universal balance and unravelling space and time. Humans usually have an allotted time period for their death date, but if I erased that then... maybe you could live forever with me? Well, now we _are _stuck together thanks to the contract, so there's really no point in asking that question. Anyway, with Carriedo, I just used the amount of time in your grandfather's lifespan that he could possibly sacrifice, but you... no longer have that—time, I mean. It's infinite now, so now you're stagnant and won't ever age. Technically, in terms of physiology, you are still a regular human, but I'll protect you no matter what. I promised and gave you my word. I'll just get a lot of shit from the Council as well as the blokes from the Heavens, but there's not much that they can do about it now unless they want to botch up destiny more than what I've already done."

There was a moment of silence as Lovino attempted to process the information he was given. "What about that equivalent exchange crap?" the brunet inquired hesitantly. Of all of the things he had learnt from Arthur, fair trade was a rather large factor in most of the hocus pocus shit that went on.

"I'm the King of the Underworld," Arthur responded casually. "I can do whatever I want. It's usually things like solidifying, liquidating, or evaporating substances as well as granting wishes that pertain to the equivalent exchange. That's why the Philosopher's Stone is almost impossible to transmute—for a regular mage or alchemist, anyway. They simply cannot afford the price. Really, in a sense, I have the Philosopher's Stone flowing through my blood; it's my right as King of the Underworld."

"You're batshit insane, bastard," Lovino mumbled in awe, burying his face into Arthur's chest, relishing his touch. His eyes fell onto the pentacle still engraved over their hearts and asked, "When did we get these anyway? I don't remember ever forming a contract with you until last night."

"It must have happened four years ago," Arthur suggested offhandedly, "after the showdown with Patrick but before we got separated. There's only that time frame."

"You don't remember either?"

"Of course not! I... err, well," the blond flushed with shame, grumbling, "passed out," before clearing his throat and speaking normally again, "but when I woke up, I noticed the contract and followed the flow of energy to Rome," Arthur clarified. "I've told you before that these contracts are like collars, right? It lets me know wherever you are and whenever you're in danger." He smiled and remarked, "I'm chained to you. It's like a wedding band with a tracking device."

Lovino rolled his eyes and rested his head against Arthur's shoulder. "I don't want to go to work."

"Same here," Arthur griped. "I have to call off the restrictions on Rome. My brothers are most bloody likely to be pissed off at me, too."

"You did do something pretty stupid."

"Shut it, wanker."

"You first, bastard! I want to go back to sleep, dammit!" He snuggled closer to Arthur and closed his eyes. Feliciano could take care of the shop this morning. It was a Saturday, wasn't it?

"Sleep, huh?" Arthur mused aloud with a weak smile. "That sounds... really g—"

"H-H-Hey! W-What's wrong, bastard? A-A-Arthur? Arthur!" Lovino snapped awake the moment Arthur's body collapsed onto the mattress. He reached out immediately to his lover and shook his shoulder. "Arthur! Wake up!" Crawling onto his knees, he hovered over the blond's limp body and grasped his shoulders tightly. "Arthur! Arthur!"

Panic overwhelmed his chest before he reached for his phone and scoured for Gilbert's or Mathias' cell phone number. However, the moment he pulled up his contacts, he realised that the two of them probably didn't even have a phone. Lovino shot out of his bed and, at the very last second, snatched his boxers from the floor, stepping into them haphazardly. In spite of the love bites marring his tanned, olive skin, he flung open the door to his bedroom, stormed down the corridor, and barged into the kitchen, where he found Feliciano sipping a cup of coffee and finishing their leftover pasta. The teasing grin on his little brother's face faltered instantly as he noticed the frenetic expression in Lovino's eyes.

"_Fratello_, what's wrong?" he asked in rapid Italian.

"Do you have that albino bastard's number—or Mathias'?" Lovino spluttered nervously.

"No, they don't have cell phones," Feliciano responded just as anxiously, caught in his brother's panic. "What happened?"

"Go to the café and bring them here!" Lovino barked without heeding his brother's question after hearing his response. He immediately pivoted on his heel and turned back to his bedroom, crawling onto his bed and pressing the back of his hand against Arthur's forehead and immediately retracting his touch. The blond wasn't particularly warm, but he was incredibly _cold—_like ice or stone. Lovino's heart pounded heavily with fear as trepidation gnawed at his stomach. What the hell was going on? What should he do? His hand strayed to Arthur's neck, quickly checking for a pulse, and relief flooded his chest as he learnt that the blond's heart was still beating. Some anxiety was alleviated at the sight of his breathing—though shallow it was—but his hope rested with Gilbert and Mathias right now. He didn't have expertise in this area—especially when it came to demons or, really, daemons in general.

Moments later, Gilbert barged into the room and immediately recoiled at the smell lingering in the room. "_Verdammt!_" he hissed, narrowing his blood red eyes at Lovino, as he slapped a hand over his nose. "You could have warned me! My nose is sensitive, you know!" He carefully tread over to Arthur's side, stiffening noticeably when he stepped into something wet on the floor and thanked the Heavens (for once) that he was wearing runners. "You could have cleaned, too! This is so not awesome, Lovino!"

"Like hell I have time to clean when my—_argh_!—passed out right in front of me!" Lovino snapped indignantly at the barking werewolf. "What the hell am I supposed to do?!"

"Nothing! He always passes out if he uses too much magic while on Earth," Gilbert retorted as he glanced over at his friend. "This is one of those episodes! What the hell did he do anyway? Do I even want to know? It might not be awesome—like your damn mess. Hey, wait..." Gilbert's nose crinkled as he sniffed the area. "You smell different. I don't mean like Arthur's traces in or on you or anything—wait, no, maybe in. Definitely in." Without much warning, Gilbert snatched Lovino's hand and broke the skin with a claw-like nail. He sniffed again. "Shit, you have Art's _blood_ in you?! What the hell happened last night?! O-O-Other than the sex!"

"_Chigi!_" Lovino squealed, snatching his hand away and sucking away the blood. "I-I-It was an accident! I bit his tongue!"

"_Way too much information!_"

"You wanted to know, dammit, you stupid albino bastard!"

"Why are you still alive then?!"

"I don't know! Magic?!"

"Well, damn, no wonder Art passed out," Gilbert grumbled. "The same thing happened when he lengthened Toni's lifespan. Anyway, get him dressed up, and I'll take him back to his place since it's closer than the nearest Gate. It's better if he rests up in the Tower surrounded by his magic books and shit. Once he's well rested, we'll need to go back to the Underworld to settle some business. I have a feeling the Scribe isn't too happy about this."

He clenched his jaw and tentatively stepped out of the room to escape the smell of sex lingering in the air as quickly as possible. Lovino huffed indignantly before snatching Arthur's clothes from the floor and meekly slipping the articles onto his lover's body one by one. He dressed himself as well before calling for Gilbert when he was done. The werewolf immediately hoisted Arthur over his shoulder effortlessly and told Lovino to clean up the damn room first before dropping by Arthur's manor for a visit. Lovino narrowed his eyes into a sharp glare but heeded Gilbert's words.

The werewolf knew that the Italian needed to calm down first.

After throwing the bedsheets and covers into the washer, Lovino scrambled out of his apartment to where Arthur's manor ought to be. Just as he was about to knock on the door, it opened immediately to reveal a beaming Alfred, chiming, "Romano!" A part of Lovino's heart lurched at the familiar name. Arthur had stopped calling him that; he wondered why. Of course, maybe to these children, he'll always be Romano Kirkland, and that was fine with him—as long as Arthur didn't _adopt_ him, dammit. Snapping out of his daze, Lovino was startled awake when Alfred threw his tiny arms around Lovino's waist and exclaimed, "Why haven't you visited before?! It's been such a long, long, long, long, long time—like a bazillion years! Everyone's missed you! Mattie's missed you, Angie's missed you, Jia Long and Neeraja have missed you, too! We were in Tokyo though because Kiku used to live in Tokyo and thought it would be easier to take care of us there and we were also in the Underworld every once in a while so maybe it would have been difficult for you to visit us since you're a human and all... You smell funny, Roma."

"Alfred," Lovino exhaled. Really, the child was endearing, but he spoke faster than Feliciano at one thousand words a minute sometimes—and in _English_! "Where's Arthur?"

"Daddy?" Alfred repeated, cocking his head to the side in contemplation. Lovino's heart skipped a beat. In the four years that he's been separated from Arthur, perhaps Alfred had actually grown closer to the daemon. Lovino had ever rarely heard the boy call Arthur his father. "Uncle Gil brought him back asleep! He's in his Tower now so Kiku says that it wouldn't be very long until he wakes up! You wanna see?"

Lovino nodded eagerly before slowing down. He didn't want to see too anxious or apprehensive or even excited. "Yes," he answered shortly, "I do. Can you take me to him?"

"Yeah! Just follow me, Roma!" Alfred chirped as he pulled Lovino into the manor—or, rather, as perceived by the exterior, a regular Italian apartment—and closed the door behind the brunet diligently, locking all of the bolts and latches. When Lovino turned about, he jumped out of his skin, startled, upon noticing Matthew peering at him curiously.

"Welcome back, Romano," Matthew greeted the Italian young man politely with a curious blink of his eyes. Just when Lovino thought he was about to be ostracised from the manor by a little kid, the child smiled warmly at the brunet and awkwardly and hesitantly spoke, "We all missed you... Where—?"

Matthew's question was caught short by a demanding tone of Arthur's pampered little princess. Angelique narrowed her eyes at Lovino and stomped down the stairs indignantly with a point on her lips, "Where did you go, Roma? _Why_ did you go? We could have played together more..." Tears dripped from her eyes before she flew into his arms, and Lovino embraced her little shoulders firmly before picking up the only daughter and propping her on his hip. "We had so much fun! Why did you leave? Did you not like us any more?" She rubbed at her eyes, hiccuping, "We could have had tea parties and played house and read books and watched films and waited for _Papa _to wake up together... It was lonely without you and _Papa_, Roma!"

"You had Kiku, didn't you? Gilbert and Mathias visited, didn't they?" Lovino asked tentatively and tenderly, whispering in her ear in an attempt to calm her. "I'm sure you had other guests, too, _Bambina_."

"But I wanted to play with _you_! Nobody else wants to play house or tea party or with dolls without you!" Angelique cried as Romano wiped away her tears. "Because they're all boys!"

"What about me?" Lovino mused. "I'm a boy, too, aren't I?"

"But Arthur loves you differently than other boys like Alfred and Mattie. I think he loves you differently than everyone else," Angelique muttered, her words causing Lovino's breath to hitch in his throat as he stared at her with wide, astonished eyes, "so you're different. You're special, Roma!"

"Romano?"

The brunet turned his head to find Jia Long staring at the floor, shuffling nervously while shifting his weight from foot to foot, attempting to regain balance and composure. Blushing from the tip of his head to the bottom of his toes, he mumbled, "I missed you, too..."

Then Neeraja climbed down the stairs and beamed from ear to ear at Lovino. "Hello," he greeted politely but warmly. "Are you going to stay now?"

"Romano-sama," a cold, levelled, and emotionless voice addressed him from the threshold leading into the kitchen. The Italian met Kiku's calculating gaze before the dark eyes softened subtly. The fox spirit gave him a small smile and greeted the young man as well, "Welcome back to His Majesty's manor. Shall I make preparations for your stay?"

"M-My stay?" Lovino repeatedly incredulously. He hadn't been planning on staying here at the manor again. His apartment wasn't that far away, but... he had to admit that he was warming to the idea now—especially if it meant he would be here with Arthur.

Kiku chuckled softly. "Pardon my honesty, but, with the way the children are clinging to you, I doubt you will be able to leave any time soon," the Japanese daemon explained before bowing elegantly. "Will you be heading to the Tower to see His Majesty?"

"_C-Cosa?_"

"Alfred-sama is leading you there, isn't he?" Kiku reasoned. "I advise that you ought to warm up to the Tower. It's quite vast, and it's too much for one individual—even if that one person is His Majesty. He would enjoy your company immensely. I'll arrange for you to reside in His Majesty's room for the time being unless you request otherwise. Is that all right?"

Alfred tugged impatiently on the hem of Lovino's shirt and pointed eagerly up the stairs. "Come on, Roma! Let's go!" Just as Lovino climbed up the stairs with Matthew, Jia Long, and Neeraja following after him and Alfred—Angelique still in his arms—he strolled past a smirking Gilbert.

"Getting used to domestic life, Lovino?" Gilbert sniggered.

"Shut up, you bas—ugh," Lovino bit his tongue and spat, "you _jerk_."

"Kesesese! Now you sound like Peter!"

Lovino scowled at the albino and remarked, "So where's Mathias?"

"Ah, he's got some clan meeting," Gilbert answered dismissively with a shrug of his shoulders. "I've got to run to meet with my pack, too. It's great seeing you two finally together, by the way!" A sheepish smile crept onto Gilbert's lips shyly as he rubbed the back of his neck. "I... I admit that, at first, I really didn't want this to happen. I've only heard so much about Guinevere, you know? Then there's the whole thing about Franny and his human lover. That ended miserably, too, but... I think you two might be able to pull this off. You're awesome enough for it; I mean, the two of you are pretty stubborn and headstrong in your own right. Two peas in a pod?" Gilbert snickered. "I guess it's true—what they say about soul mates—but I wouldn't know. I can't see souls like demons do." The albino began to descend the stairs, taking two or three steps at a time. He waved to Lovino and called, "Invite me to your wedding! I call dibs on being best man!"

Lovino's cheeks flushed with heat.

"Wedding?" Angelique repeated curiously. A smile graced her lips. "I want to go to a wedding!"

"Me too! Me too!" Alfred exclaimed from the front, leaping with pure and utter delight. "I want to go to a wedding! The last wedding I went to was Aunt Bridget's wedding!"

"We don't get to go to weddings often!" Angelique continued without heeding Alfred's excitement. "People in the Underworld don't get married often!"

"Why?" Lovino questioned.

"Why would they?" Jia Long responded bluntly. "Everyone is already together forever anyway." He glanced at Lovino before mentioning, "But you and Arthur are special."

"In what way?"

Jia Long grasped Lovino's hand almost meekly and locked their pinky fingers together. "Because you've promised," he whispered under his breath, "that you'll be together forever. You're different."

"Come on," Neeraja spoke up, gesturing down the corridor, "this way." Lovino nodded his head before setting Angelique onto the floor. He followed down the corridor, led by the children, to the end before climbing up a set of spiralling stairs. At the top, there was a single wooden door that Alfred and Matthew urged him to open, so he did. Closing the door behind him, Lovino's jaw slackened upon seeing the massive numbers of leather bounded books—all of them probably weighing a hefty tonne or two! They lined the shelves that seemed to touch the ceiling—no, wait, it did touch the ceiling—and piled upon themselves like mounds or hills or mountains. There even appeared to be a coffee table made of several stacks of books!

"W-What the hell?"

Lovino trudged carefully into the room as though a single misstep could cause an avalanche before his eyes fell onto a stone alter in the centre of the room. He approached it cautiously, and with every step he could make out Arthur's resting form on top of the slab with his arms crossed over his chest, his hands resting atop one another like in prayer. Just as he was about to take another step forward, Arthur suddenly snapped awake and shot upright, startling the Italian and making him stumble backwards.

"What the hell are you doing, bastard?!"

"Don't step any closer!" Arthur exclaimed, eyes wide and distraught. "You'll get caught in the bloody pentacle!" Lovino glanced at the floor and found a glowing pentagram shining with soft lavender and misty blue light tracing a path arranged by five red wax candles, inscribed within a circle. Surrounding the alter was a multitude of white candles, and Lovino couldn't help but wonder if this was a bit of a hazardous surrounding to have a number of candles alight. They were, after all, surrounded by books. A relieved sigh broke Lovino out of his reverie, and he turned to face Arthur, who was resting his head in his hands. "If you had stepped into the pentacle, you would have absorbed life energy, too, and, for a human, taking too much life energy can be disastrous."

"Life energy?" Lovino repeated. "Where is it coming from?"

"The River Vitae," Arthur answered pointedly. "A soul can give a demon more than plenty of energy, after all. Our bodies take that soul, absorb it, and turn it into a part of our essence. Do you remember what my brothers said about eating a soul and becoming stronger four years ago? It's like that."

"Is this what you've been doing for four years...?"

"Yes and no," Arthur responded slowly. "The method is the same, but it was a deeper and more critical stage of energy loss. You can compare it to being comatose. My life essence dwindled some, but when it does that, my... my spirit leaves all three dimensions to a void beyond. It varies from demon to demon. For some, they see limbo or purgatory. For me, I see Avalon. When I'm in Avalon, I know that I'll be stuck for some time until I find a way to return... The historians said that I died in Avalon in the sixth century, but they never knew where Avalon was." He stepped onto his feet, shakily, and Lovino watched him with concern as he stumbled forward. "Avalon is a part of me, you know, and it's so bloody difficult to break away from all of your regrets and fears that keep you chained to the past... Anyway, that's why it took so long. I'm sorry, luv."

"N-Not that I care or anything, bastard," Lovino grumbled, cheeks growing red, as he averted his eyes shyly from Arthur's approaching form, "but should you really be up and moving right now?"

"I'll be fine," Arthur assured as he finally stepped out of the pentacle. The moment he did so, the light from the magic circle vanished entirely and the candle flames were extinguished. He threw his arms around Lovino and pressed a kiss to the brunet's temple. "I'll be fine. I'm sorry for making you worry; you must have had quite a fright."

"I said I wasn't worried..."

"Thank you anyway."

Lovino buried his face into Arthur's chest and muttered, "You know everyone's saying that we're going to get married. You should fix that, dammit."

"Why? I quite like the sound of that, Romano Kirkland—no, sorry—_Lovino_ Vargas Kirkland."

Lovino's cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "That's not what I meant, you dumb bastard," he griped. "I meant that, if we're going to be together, then what the hell about your wedding to... _the other woman_?"

"Technically, I think you'd be the 'other woman' in this case."

"Shut the fuck up!" Lovino hissed, pushing Arthur away and pivoting on his heel, blushing all the way down to his toes. He spluttered, "A-A-Anyway... I-I don't know if I want to g-get m-m-m-m-_married_. I'm only twenty-three, dammit, and this is too fast..."

"Well," Arthur assured with a smile, undeterred, "we have all the time in the world. There's no rush. Don't you have your café to which to tend? I'll be here resting, so get to work, spitfire. That café isn't going to take care of itself." Lovino gave Arthur a sceptical glance, and the blond chortled lowly. "Lovino, I'm around sixteen hundred years old. I can take care of myself."

"You haven't been doing a good job of proving that, you bastard."

Arthur burst into laughter at that. "Well, yes, that's true, but it's only because you're involved. I do bloody crazy shite with you around." He smiled fondly at the brunet. "If it's you, I can do anything. I'll go through Heaven and Hell just for you." Lovino bit his lower lip before, coerced, leaving Arthur to himself in order to take care of his business. Feliciano was out for classes, Gilbert and Mathias had some meeting, and there was nobody else he could trust with his establishment. Reluctantly, he bid Arthur goodbye before departing the manor. The blond saw him to the door before leaning on the threshold and sighing.

"Now to take care of _my_ business."

* * *

"You're cancelling the wedding?" Yao Wang repeated incredulously, his voice reverberating off the walls of the meeting room, as he stared wide-eyed at his king. "But why?! It's only three weeks away! You _do_ understand that, right, Arthur?!"

"I've been seeing someone else," Arthur responded tersely. "Besides, I don't see why _I _have to explain my love life to you! It's not really any of your business, is it?"

"Of course it's my business! My job entails recording what you're up to!" Yao Wang protested. "This also concerns the kingdom! What are we going to tell everyone?"

"We tell them that Art's getting laid by someone else, and if anyone's against it, they can just kiss my ass because, frankly, I don't give a damn about what they think," Gilbert spoke up dryly. A strip of bandage was wrapped around his head because of an injury he had sustained from Elizaveta's frying pan during her lecture regarding the night of the Roman shut-down. "It's not like it really matters who's queen or consort or whatever. As long as Arthur is happy, I'm fine with whatever goes. This guy went fifteen, sixteen hundred years of celibacy after the death of Princess Guinevere, you know! I think that deserves some praise!" There were murmurs of agreement across the round table, much to Arthur's disdain. The insulted king simply scowled at his so-called friend's "comment."

"Besides, this can do the kingdom some good as well!" Mathias remarked. "There have been concerns among the subjects about whether one of the succubus would be corrupt—no offence, Francis—and would try to usurp the throne, especially when Patrick was still around. If we bring in Lovino, who knows absolutely nothing about the Otherside despite being Catholic—"

"Wait, wait, wait!" Alistair interjected before giving his younger brother a disbelieving look. He pointed a forefinger upwards and asked of the King, "He's _Catholic_? Well, granted he may be Italian and the Roman Catholic Church is just right next door, but I never thought _you'd_ be taken by one of them!"

"He does not, _euhh_, look _religieux_ though," Francis remarked, coupled with several casual gesticulations, "with that_ caractère profane_ of his. I definitely would not have thought of him as _un homme de foi_." A perverse smirk crept onto Francis' mug as he asked lecherously, "_Comment est-il au lit, mon cher ami?_"

"Sod off, Frog." Arthur's scowl then curved upwards in a dry, humorous smirk. "That's a secret."

"_Qu'il est obscène_!" Francis teased. "_Vous êtes un amant rugueux, Votre Majesté_."

Mathias cleared his throat obnoxiously in an attempt to regain the attention he had lost. "Anyway," he began brusquely, giving everyone an uncharacteristically exasperated glare, "I think Lovino can do the realm some good. He'll be a neutral party in every affair."

"There's also a problem in that itself!" Yao argued, pounding his hand against the table. "He's not properly educated in the affairs of the Otherside! How much experience has he had with the supernatural? Only a weeks' worth! No more, no less! How can we trust him with emergency situations if he doesn't understand much about our dimension?"

"On the job training!" Gilbert persisted on the pro-Lovino side of the spectrum. "He picked things up pretty quickly when we were finding his brother—body _and_ soul! He can put his mind to things if he tried or wanted to!"

"We don't need a lazy consort! It's not a matter of if he tries or wants to do something! He _has_ to do it! He _needs _to do it!" Yao argued.

"Now, now, comrades," Ivan piped up with his eerily childish smile, "it is best to be calming down now, _da_? Suppose that Lovino is to be consort of His Majesty and suppose that he is fulfilling all duties, what of heir? Men cannot be reproducing even with magic!"

Arthur's face flushed with seething and vitriolic anger and embarrassment as the Council dissolved into speaking of his sex life, potential heirs, selective breeding, magic, pregnancies, and childcare. Tested, affronted, indignant, and simply impatient, Arthur heaved a thunderous roar that silenced the entirety of the room. Panting, he hissed, "I am not asking for a change of brides. I am not asking for another marriage or another wedding. I am not asking for anything of the sort. I am simply requesting—nay, _demanding—_that my wedding to Marianne shall be annulled. Issue a formal apology to the realm, but do not rearrange for me another marriage. I have already decided on a lover, and when the time comes, I shall announce any news of engagement to you. As for an heir, well," Arthur smirked, "it's not like I'm dying any time soon."

Francis smiled and stood from his seat, raising his hand and placing it over his heart. "All in favour of the annulling of His Infernal Majesty King Arthur Pendragon Kirkland's wedding say 'aye,'" the Frenchman announced loudly and clearly.

Mathias and Gilbert exchanged a grin before standing and raising their hands over their hearts. "Aye."

Bridget and her sons, Jett and James, stood as well, smiling at the man who may not have saved their family but had ultimately prevented their nuclear family from crumbling entirely, declaring firmly, "Aye."

Seamus glanced at his aunt before standing up himself, and upon seeing his brother stand, Peter did as well. "Aye," Seamus agreed with a cheeky smile directed in Arthur's direction. Following his announcement, Peter stammered, "A-Aye!" Everyone chuckled a little at Peter's input before Seamus continued, "I wish you the best, Brother."

Owain as well stood after a moment's contemplation. "It's not _my l_ove life," he explained half-heartedly, "so aye. Can I sit down now?" He cast a glance to his oldest brother, who was smirking widely.

"What? Ye think I would decline?" Alistair remarked dryly before standing up as well. "Aye, Brother! Ye came all the way from Avalon for this. Ye were lost all this time, but now... Ye have a good chance of happiness. Ye might as well spread it across the realm and make things a _little_ bit better."

Ivan smiled at the stubborn Scribe before standing himself. "Isn't it fine, Yao? To be saying 'aye'? I say 'aye' as well."

The stubborn Scribe heaved a great sigh before reluctantly standing onto his feet, grumbling under his breath all the while, and voicing a strained, "Aye—and I hope you know what you're doing."

A silence fell upon the Council before Gilbert and Mathias broke into loud cheers that soon Francis and the Kirkland family joined. Arthur smiled at his friends while Yao and Ivan smiled at the sight.

"Isn't this great, Yao?" Ivan mused aloud.

"Yes, yes, but let's just see how long this lasts."

Arthur was promptly ushered to the Gate by Gilbert, Mathias, and Francis. Their most loyal subordinates and closest friends followed after them as well as they stepped onto the Surface World, crying for a party and celebration. All of the noise and excitement faltered upon seeing Lovino standing in front of his grandfather's grave, arching an eyebrow at the massive group.

"I see that you're resting, bastard."

"I had some business to take care of, git. Besides, I'm feeling much better now that I've had some time to loosen the restraints on my powers. It aids in recovery as well."

"Sometimes I wonder if you're just feeding me bullshit."

Arthur smiled. "I would never lie to you."

"_Mon cher,_ what the hell are you waiting for?!" Francis exclaimed, pushing Arthur forward and closer to Lovino. "Tell him the good news!"

"Wait, wait, wait!" Gilbert piped up. "I want to do it!"

"Why should _you_ get to do it?" Elizaveta hissed. "That doesn't make any sense!"

"I agree, _Bruder_," Ludwig remarked dryly. "It really is not your news to share."

"But it really is so exciting!" Mathias exclaimed. "I want to tell him, too!"

"_Anko_," Lukas seethed, narrowing his eyes at the tall Dane, "be quiet."

"Would you bloody wankers just shut it for a moment? That would be greatly appreciated!" Arthur snapped. "Really, what the deuce is wrong with you lot? You've been riled up all day!"

"Just wanted some action!" Gilbert defended himself, crossing his arms. A smirk came over his lips. "But now we get a party! _Party!_"

"W-What the hell is going on, bastard?" Lovino stammered nervously at the sight of hyperactive and slightly insane daemons in front of him.

"Ah, wedding's off," Arthur informed Lovino with a gentle smile. "We're free now."

"Really?"

"Really."

Lovino couldn't help but smile—even in front of all of these people—and responded, "That's fucking great, bastard."

"Party at Francy-Pants' place!" Gilbert crowed obnoxiously as Vladimir and Lukas conjured a portal to Paris. "Last one there gets to fetch Keeks and the kids!" With that, he bolted through the portal with Mathias hot on his tail—quite literally at that, seeing that Gilbert had quickly morphed into his wolfish form to gain ground—and the rest of his pack following afterwards. The mages smoothly slipped through the portal with Mathias' clan shortly behind them. Francis urged his girls to hurry in order to help him prepare for the unexpected and sudden party, cursing Gilbert in French all the while, before everyone else shuffled after them. Arthur and Lovino remained behind, smiling, even as the portal closed in front of them.

"Would you like to go home?" Arthur asked Lovino as a moment of silence slipped behind them, erasing the earlier excitement with a sort of serenity shared only by the two of them. He stretched out a hand gently, smiling like the devilish gentleman Lovino knew him to be, that his Italian lover graciously accepted. "They'll expect us later."

"That will be later, dammit. I just want to be with you right now, bastard."

* * *

**A/N:** This is the final chapter, but it's not quite over yet! There's still the epilogue.


	16. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

"How was business today?" Arthur asked the moment Lovino had stepped into the living room. The Italian was entirely oblivious to the fact that the pentacle Arthur had enchanted on the front door earlier that day while Lovino was at work now glowed with a misty blue and soft lilac light before fading away just as quickly as it flashed. The blond took another sip of tea—Earl Grey with a shot of rum—from his cup and praised Jia Long's natural talent for brewing tea flawlessly and perfectly. Setting the teacup back onto its saucer on the glass coffee table, the blond flipped another aged and yellowed page of his tome, not bothering to look away from the ancient words encoded within the pages, as his lover shuffled about the manor indignantly.

After about three months into their rekindled relationship, Lovino had agreed only two weeks ago to move into Arthur's magical manor that could easily shift its location between Rome and London or elsewhere whenever they pleased. The moment he had done so, however, it seemed that a werewolf infestation attacked his old apartment. Now living with his little brother was his best friend, Ludwig, and Ludwig's pack—Kerberos—marking it as part of their Italian territory. Lovino was not at all pleased, but what could he do when his little brother looked so damn happy?

"Chigi! Don't even mention work! The albino bastard and the damn giant are driving me _up the wall_!" The brunet flung his arms into the air dramatically before collapsing onto Arthur's new Italian leather sofa. Because of the children, it was not the white sectional Lovino had favoured but instead a dark variant of the design. After all, there was nothing more unappealing than getting stains from leaking juice boxes on such beautiful furniture. Lovino huffed exasperatedly and crossed his arms, grumbling, "I thought opening a _caffè_ would be relaxing, dammit, but ever since they've started visiting, it's been anything _but_ relaxing!"

"Oh, but you _know_ you enjoy their company."

"If we give that albino mutt a sedative, then, yes, I would enjoy their damn company, bastard, since the blond giant is at least _somewhat_ calmer..." Lovino faltered in his thoughts before quickly grumbling, "But, then again, anyone is calmer than that doggy bastard."

"Well, you're going to have to put up with them a little more, spitfire. The Frog rang me up today and said that there's an emergency meeting in Paris," Arthur informed casually before taking another delicate sip of his Earl Grey and rum. It was raining earlier in London, and the cool weather had pacified the children's play some. Just moments ago, they had all gathered in the living room, sipping hot chocolate and enjoying Arthur's recounting of _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_. Afterwards, they had then re-enacted the battle between Peter Pan, played by Alfred, and Captain Hook, played by Arthur who was, as the children claimed, the best pirate in existence.

Of course, that peaceful atmosphere was sabotaged the moment Lovino entered the manor with his foul mood and language. "Shit, shit, shit, shit, _shit_! Do I _have_ to go?" the Italian hissed irritatedly. Arthur was lucky that he had Kiku send the children to sleep before it was late into the night. While spirits did not technically need sleep, their energies would be better rejuvenated if there was a period of time where they were inactive. What was better than bedtime? It fit perfectly with their past routines, and it was also an excellent and effective excuse to evacuate them from the current vicinity. After all, he didn't need Alfred to pick up Lovino's foul language.

"He explicitly stated that your presence is necessary."

"What the hell? I finally thought we got to be alone." The pout in Lovino's tone was most evident, and despite the situation it made Arthur smile fondly at his younger lover. "Even though it's been three months, people are still popping their noses into our damn business. 'When are you two going to get hitched?' or 'Where are you planning to get married?' or 'Who is going to propose?' or 'Have you consummated your love yet?' Dammit! When the hell are we going to get time to ourselves? When the hell are they going to leave?"

"I hear the weather's lovely in Paris tonight," Arthur commented as he flipped another page of his tome. Huh, a spell to pacify anger... He'll have to look into that one later. The blond snapped his fingers, and a strip of post-it note peeled itself from the stack on the coffee table, floating into Arthur's idle hands, before the Briton marked the page. Lovino watched, momentarily distracted, before resuming his former stance and demeanour.

"Don't change the subject, bastard. What the hell are they planning? I _know_ you know, dammit! They can never keep a secret from you!"

"It's because I'm the King of the Underworld."

"What does that make me?!"

"The King's current lover. Just relax and wear something pretty."

"I can't just _relax _because you tell me to! What am I? A dog?!"

"That's Gilbert's job," Arthur responded shortly with a playful smirk on his lips. He finished the rest of his cooling tea, setting it back onto its saucer and sending it floating through the air back into the kitchen and into the sink, and remarked, "Yours is simply to be my beautiful Italian lover with a shirty, feisty attitude. If you don't like the sound of that, you can be my beautiful Italian wife instead."

"Why the hell do I get the woman's role?" Lovino snapped bitterly, the implications of the latter statement flying right over his head.

Arthur only smiled weakly as he realised his lover hadn't even noticed the meaning underlying his words. Recovering from the rather harsh blow, Arthur continued the light-hearted conversation between the two of them, playfully chiming, "Because I'm the king."

"Damn you."

"Already damned, spitfire—I'm already damned." Arthur snaked an arm around Lovino's waist and pulled the brunet closer into his body for a brief kiss. His smile widened, softening into an expression of blissful delight, when he felt the Italian's lips twitch into a subtle smile. "You'll be in a more agreeable mood later, I would hope? The Frog said that it was pretty important."

"What does it matter? If the flea-ridden bastard is going to be there and if the perverted bastard is planning something," Lovino grumbled, "I'm going to be pretty pissed off sooner or later. They drive me insane, and they're even _crazier _with my bastard of a cousin. Where the hell do they get all of that damn energy?"

Arthur chuckled lowly with building apprehension and nervousness. Lovino had made a bloody good point. It was enough having to deal with the extreme personalities of the Four Lords; throwing Carriedo into that mix was asking for total lawlessness. If Arthur wanted to see anarchy—pure anarchy at its finest—then he would have paid a visit to Hell, and he hasn't done that in a few couple hundred years for obvious reasons. He always got a splitting headache afterwards. "On the bright side," Arthur remarked, "at least Yao Wang would try to control them—along with Mathias' clan and Gilbert's pack. Ivan Braginsky's coven and the Frog's house are a little more on the sketchy side of events, however; they tend to act on their own interests."

"Yao Wang, that potato eater, and Roderich Edelstein are anal retentive bastards though. Plus, that Lukas bastard looks at me like I'm some lab experiment, and that drives me batshit crazy, too," Lovino retorted. "It would only heighten my headache, dammit."

"There really is no silver lining with you, is there, spitfire?" Arthur teased dryly, rolling his eyes before flipping through another page of his tome. Damn, the blond cursed his luck as he realised that he might not be able to find the right spell just before departing for that so-called meeting Francis had arranged. Perhaps it was the wrong decision to search through all of his tomes and grimoires and volumes manually instead of using magic to scour automatically for the right spell. Honestly, he had an idea of what to do, but Arthur would feel better comforted if he could actually _find the bloody spell_. Nevertheless, he tried not to let his frustration show on his visage as he mentioned, "We've only a half hour at best. Are you ready?"

"You're not even going to give me time to relax, dammit, you bastard?" Lovino growled under his breath impatiently. He crinkled his nose in disgust before huffing in disdain. "You know what? Whatever! I'm going! I'm going, so don't you dare complain about my 'shirty' attitude, got it, asshole?"

"You're so cheery this evening, Lovino. It's just lovely. Absolutely lovely Lovino."

"You and your fucking sarcasm, bastard."

"We're already in Paris, by the way," Arthur mentioned almost offhandedly. "I rigged the teleportation pentacle to activate for when you walked past the door."

"Dammit! You _knew_ I was going to cave in, didn't you? And stop looking at that book! You have me right beside you, don't you, bastard?!"

Arthur attempted to suppress the smirk from creeping onto his lips but was unsuccessful. A stifled laugh slipped past his lips as he pressed a chaste kiss onto Lovino's temple as though it would wash away both of Lovino's sour attitude and foul mood. He really hoped that it did work, however, and it would be a bonus if it would chase away any headaches as well—for the both of them. "You would one way or another," Arthur explained cheekily. His fingers snapped his tome shut with a satisfying clap that sent shudders down Lovino's spine. It was, in a way, quite attractive of Arthur to do so—especially with that seductive spark in his eyes. Lovino arched into his touch as Arthur's nimble fingers slipped underneath the fabric of his shirt and as his lover began whispering softly into his ear, his pale lips brushing against the shell of Lovino's ear, his moist, warm breath ghosting the skin of his ear. "Are you in a more agreeable mood, luv?" he teased playfully, nipping Lovino's ear, relishing that hot and bothered flush staining Lovino's cheeks. Dropping his tome onto the side table and freeing his other hand, Arthur cupped the side of his lover's face and rubbed the scarlet tinge adoringly as though it would further smear the passionate colour.

"B-Bastard," Lovino choked out, leaning into Arthur's body to steal a hungry and lustful kiss, bringing the already close Briton closer by wrapping his arms around that slender neck. Once he managed to pull himself away from his lover's kisses, he asked of the blond, "Do we really have to go to that pervert's meeting?"

"Unfortunately, we'll have to suffer through what he's been planning, but I promise it won't last long," Arthur whispered gently before inclining his head towards the front door. "Ready?"

Lovino clicked his tongue, tutting in disdain, before huffing, "Let's just get this shit over with," and allowing Arthur to pull him to his feet. The Italian shuffled after his British lover begrudgingly, crossing his arms as he watched Arthur unlock the door with another snap of his fingers. "How lazy can you be?" Lovino griped although he himself wished that he was capable of executing such a feat.

Arthur merely smiled and remarked, "I don't really want to hear that from you—lazy sod. In the past three months, you've never done any of the cleaning around the manor! Poor, pitiful Kiku—always cleaning _your _mess in the kitchen!"

Lovino's cheeks flared with indignation as he snapped, "There's a very good reason for that, bastard!"

"Oh? Pray tell, spitfire."

Lovino averted his eyes from Arthur's amused scrutiny, shifting his weight between his feet nervously with growing embarrassment, as Arthur properly locked the door with his own two fingers instead of a snap of his fingers as though he was appealing to Lovino's lack of magical abilities. "I've never been good at cleaning," Lovino confessed sheepishly. "You can even ask that tomato bastard—but don't."

"Why not?" Arthur questioned as he glanced about them. The night had settled across Paris by now, but the amount of darkness covering them was not enough to discreetly hold Lovino's hand. After all, Paris was the city of lights aside from the city of romance. Either way, shroud or not, Lovino would throw a fit if Arthur tried anything—not that he really wanted to do anything so childish like holding hands... but he really did want to hold hands. It was little tender things to do with one's lover, like hand holding, that he missed in the past millennia. He bit the inside of his lip to refrain from grimacing with disappointment upon feeling the back of Lovino's hand brush against his—so bloody _close_! "If you really didn't want me to ask, you shouldn't have even bothered mentioning Carriedo's name," Arthur remarked as a smirk danced on his lips. "It's like you want me to find out... Do you?"

Lovino spluttered nonsensical syllables, cheeks red and hot, before spitting out, "_Chigi!_'

"I don't mind playing the role of a sleuth, spitfire, if you're so shy," Arthur teased light-heartedly. The back of his hand brushed against Lovino's, and he was soon surprised to feel their fingers lace together, intertwining and entwining like a perfect fit. He pursed his lips together to stifle that delighted smile threatening to climb onto his lips, suddenly feeling meek and shy like a silly lovesick schoolboy—not that he had much experience with such a sensation. At that sudden rush of emotion, however, a burst of vermilion stained Arthur's cheeks as well, matching that of Lovino's.

Lovino elbowed Arthur lightly, snapping, "Don't you _dare_ ask that tomato bastard _anything_ about my childhood, okay?"

"You'll tell me yourself?"

"Ha! You're going to need a bottle of wine, a basket of tomatoes, and some fucking flowers decorating a table covered with five-star meals if that's ever going to happen!"

Arthur smiled gently. "That can be arranged."

"Chi-Chigi..." Lovino mumbled weakly as he realised that his deterrent wasn't much of a deterrent after all. Arthur only seemed more determined to weed out a story of Lovino's childhood past his lips from its dark corners in his mind, buried within the shadows and sealed in the pages of history.

The two of them strolled down the Parisian streets in silence as Arthur navigated them to Francis' nightclub. Lovino's hazel eyes fell upon the stream of light spiralling in the night sky; even now, the River Vitae mystified him. He was sure that it would have been a sight to see the river of life mingle with the stars had Paris not been the City of Light. He stretched out his hand, gently brushing the tips of his fingers against the strings of light, awing when little glimmering particles danced about his fingertips. Arthur watched him with a smile and whispered softly, "I told you—from the very first day we met—that it was beautiful."

"Yeah, well, you're not wrong, bastard," Lovino responded just as gently despite the content of his sentence. Arthur was well used to his harsh, jarring language by now to know that Lovino had difficulty being honest, and the Briton didn't blame him. Telling the truth was one of the hardest things for an individual to do; a millennia of schemes and trickeries and betrayals and secrecies had taught him much. Nevertheless, he felt that he learnt more with Lovino at his side. The brunet was always surprising him.

Upon reaching Francis' nightclub, the blond pulled open the doors without further ado and gestured for Lovino to enter the establishment first. The Italian cast his lover a sceptical glance before obliging, grunting a timid thank you, and stepping inside the building. Unlike his first time in the club, there was no wispy white fog that swirled about the floor with a sickeningly sweet scent, and there was no classical music drifting about the atmosphere. There were no ethereal bodies clinging to each other in the booths or on the dance floor, nor was there any sign of humans. Still, the lighting was dimmed, and the room was almost entirely darkened.

"It's kind of creepy," Lovino mumbled under his breath, stepping closer to his lover. He begrudgingly stepped forward to match Arthur's pace, but, if he was completely honest, Lovino, in truth, did not want to be separated from his lover—not ever again. He watched apprehensively as Arthur delicately picked a slip of paper from the bar counter while his glowering emeralds skimmed through its contents. The blond arched an eyebrow as his eyes flashed with indignation. "W-What's wrong, bastard?" the Italian spluttered nervously as he subconsciously tightened his hold on Arthur's hand. The Briton, upon sensing his companion's sudden shift in mood, gawked momentarily before returning Lovino's tight grasp as though to comfort him.

"Nothing," Arthur responded calmly as he crumpled the note. "We were just played."

After processing his lover's reply, Lovino snatched the balled note from Arthur's hand and pulled it open. A hot flush surged to his cheeks as he read the message to himself but to his great dismay found himself unable to do so—the contents were entirely in French. He only managed to recognise a few Latin roots. "What does it say?"

"They're sending us on a scavenger hunt," Arthur explained brusquely, obviously not too pleased with Francis' roundabout method. "How do you feel about dinner on the Eiffel Tower?"

Lovino's stomach growled. His reddened cheeks darkened in colour, putting his tomatoes to shame. Averting his gaze as Arthur stifled his laughter, he answered, "Sure, dammit. Are we walking there?"

"It's not that far of a walk," the blond responded with a smile. He inclined his head towards the exit, silently asking if Lovino was ready to leave. Without much of a response, Lovino pulled Arthur along, increasing his pace. He just wanted to finish whatever the perverted bastard wanted and get it out of the way. Really, a bath and bed sounded absolutely perfect right about now.

Upon reaching the Eiffel Tower, Arthur led Lovino around the long lines to a location indicated by the map, bypassing the queue, where they met with Julchen standing guard at the secret entrance. The pale young woman was dressed in a military uniform that differed some from Alistair's. She wore a white button shirt with a stylish and feminine tie underneath a black long coat with a miniskirt and military boots that stretched past her knees, reaching the middle of her thighs. She grinned mischievously upon sighting Arthur and Lovino. "Finally!" she exclaimed, propping her hands on her hips, as she continued beaming at them. "I thought you two might never show up!"

"Julchen," Arthur greeted with a nod. Her eyes softened upon focusing on the blond in a way that Lovino didn't exactly appreciate. "How have you been?"

"Amazing!" Julchen chirped as she approached the couple. The grin on her lips faded into an affectionate smile that was awfully rare of her. Lovino _really_ didn't like the atmosphere between the two. They were just too comfortable with each other! "After Franny disbanded your harem, I enlisted in the military and climbed up the ranks—no sweat! Guess who's one of your new lieutenants? How do I look?" She struck a pose, jutting her hips seductively and placing her hands atop of them, while winking at the Demon King.

He smiled at her politely and responded, "Congratulations, Julchen! You look wonderful; a military uniform complements your strong will and attitude marvellously."

She giggled effeminately and replied, "I'll... I'll always serve you, Your Majesty. I will be your shield and sword for as long as I am useful. It is my duty as one of your Twenty-Four Knights of the Underworld, after all." Her heterochromatic eyes dropped to the ground, somewhat glassy underneath the lighting of the tower, in order to turn her gaze away from the happy couple. A dark sensation reminiscent of guilt welled in Lovino's stomach. "Franny, well, he—uh, I guess—he reserved a dinner date under your name for the two of you. Something like that. It's on the second level." She pulled open the door, revealing the pitch blackness of a portal swirling with the colours of darkness, and gave Lovino an encouraging smile. "I'm... I'm happy for you, or, well, I mean... It's awesome that you two are together."

She sneaked behind Arthur and Lovino and gave them a push forward. The two of them stumbled into the portal, past a dimension, and into what was supposed to be the restaurant on the second level. Instead of _Le Jules Verne_, however, Arthur and Lovino found themselves the observation deck of the tower, cleared of any tourists. There was a small round table for two near the windows, adorned with a simple but sophisticated white tablecloth, a single candelabra aglow with gentle flames, and an ornate vase containing a single red rose. Arthur and Lovino approached the set curiously and cautiously before Arthur pulled out a chair for Lovino. Flushing, the brunet took a seat, and Arthur joined him on the other side.

"Well, aren't the two of you _idioti_ cosy?" snapped a bitter female voice from the side. Their heads whipped to the side to find the Italian twins Alice and Chiara standing there dressed in matching waitress uniforms.

Chiara narrowed her amber eyes at Lovino, causing him to stiffen nervously, but approached the table nevertheless with a bottle of wine in her arms. Her sister, on the other hand, greeted them both cheerfully and set the wine glasses in front of them. Chiara expertly uncorked the bottle and poured the red wine with elegance and splendour before setting the bottle on the table. At that moment, Marianne slipped into the scene, dressed as a waitress as well, gracefully carrying their plated dinners and setting the two plates in front of the couple. A dark emotion pooled in Lovino's stomach; Arthur could have had any one of these beautiful ladies. They were graceful and elegant and sophisticated. On the other hand, Lovino was anything but that! He was clumsy and short-tempered and foul. He was anything but perfect, yet Arthur was still together with him.

"_Votre dîner—préparé par le Chef Bonnefoy_," the Frenchwoman sang merrily as she served the two of them. "_Bon appetit_!"

The three young women then turned on their heels and disappeared into the darkness. Arthur and Lovino exchanged bemused glances before both cracking a shy smile. Arthur lifted his wine glass in a toast, and Lovino copied his actions. Their glasses clinked together, both of them giving their silent cheers like secret prayers, as they began to dig into their meals.

Course after course was served diligently by the three girls. After the _hor d'oeuvres_ was the fish course garnished with vegetables and accompanied with a lemon sorbet to "refresh the senses," according to _le Chef Bonnefoy_. For the main course was _le bifteck_ cooked to perfection, marinated and seasoned expertly, plated elegantly with another vegetable garnish, followed by a fresh, seasonal salad to "cleanse the palate," as—once again—stated by _le Chef Bonnefoy_. Then, earning Arthur's dry remarks about how "the bloody Frog is such a wino cheese monkey sometimes," was the cheese plate with freshly cut fruit and even more wine. Lastly was dessert, finishing with a move that surprised both Arthur and Lovino. Francis had prepared a single slice of a sponge cake with whipped cream between the three layers—Lovino's signature angel cake—and although it didn't quite taste the same, Arthur and Lovino were silently touched by the Frenchman's decision. The few British items on Lovino's menu from the time of his amnesia, after all, were influenced—unconsciously, perhaps—by Arthur's presence.

While Lovino wasn't so fond of French cuisine in comparison to his mother's traditional Italian cooking, he had to admit that Francis bastard did an okay job by the time dinner was over. Arthur had seemed to enjoy it as well despite the fact that he was desperately hiding how he actually liked the Frog's culinary talents. Everyone knew that he probably really delighted in dining here at the Eiffel Tower, however, by all of the degrading comments Arthur had slipped about Francis. Lovino had to smile. Arthur always looked like he was enjoying every meal as though it was his last even though he technically did not need to eat physically.

Their meal had passed with idle and leisurely conversation, stimulating yet relaxing, before Alice stepped into the scene. She handed Arthur a note with a smile, pecking his cheek affectionately before doing the same to Lovino. "_Congratulazioni_!" she whispered to Lovino as the latter flushed heavily with embarrassment. With a friendly wave and an amiable smile that appeared somewhat hurt, Alice returned to whence she had come. Arthur unfolded the note and scanned its contents before sighing again.

"What is it this time?" Lovino asked the blond.

"Gilbert," Arthur grunted before handing the Italian the note. Not that he needed to do so, Lovino noted with slight dismay as he noticed the latest message was written in German. Lovino returned it back to Arthur, who immediately scrutinised its contents yet again, narrowing his eyes and furrowing his eyebrows in thought. "The wanker is inviting us on a gondola ride down the Rhine River in Germany."

"How are we supposed to get to _Germany_?" Lovino blurted in surprise. Arthur pointed to the note yet again.

"There's a rune here. This is probably Kiku's or maybe even Lukas' or Vladimir's work. There's no prominent signature to be found at first sight—not that it even matters at this point. At any rate, I believe that it serves the same purpose as my teleportation pentagrams," the blond informed before grasping Lovino's hand. Before the Italian could protest his sudden actions, Arthur smiled and retorted, "You don't want to get separated, do you?" The blond traced the block-like pattern of the rune with the tip of his forefinger, fuelling it with the necessary magic, before it glowed with supernatural properties that suddenly flashed white light.

Regaining his bearings, Lovino soon lost them yet again as he felt his weight shift unevenly between his feet. He shrieked as he fell backwards, but before he could tumble overboard, he felt a pair of arms wrap around him and pull him forward. Collapsing into someone's lap, straddling the person's waist, Lovino's cheeks reddened with pure shame and embarrassment and humiliation. When a familiar soft chuckle brushed against his ear, Lovino peeked through half-lidded eyes and found Arthur beaming at him. "A tad bit clumsy now, aren't we?"

"Chi-Chigi!" he squealed, pushing Arthur away desperately, but upon feeling the low wall of the gondola press against his back, he resigned himself to his lover's lap with a hot blush coating his cheeks. He didn't dare look up from the wooden floor beneath them; still, he was quite content with Arthur's chin resting atop his shoulder. Lovino could feel the gentle golden strands of his lover's hair brush against his skin. Forcing himself to ignore the soft giggles from a girl watching them nearby and to ignore the fact that there was a damn violinist playing music for them, Lovino attempted to relax in Arthur's warm embrace, reminded of the times when his white wings had sheltered the Italian from all and any harm. When a pair of feet intruded his line of vision, however, Lovino was forced to look into another pair of green eyes different from that of Arthur's.

Elizaveta gave him an encouraging smile and handed him a note before returning to her seat between Ludwig, who was rowing the damn gondola according to Elizaveta's map, and Roderich, who had been playing the violin all this time. Arthur unfolded the note with Lovino in his arms, and the two of them read the next message together.

"Spanish?" Lovino whispered under his breath as he roughly translated the message by himself. He didn't bother asking Arthur for help since his own pride was at stake. Arthur had already managed to translate the French and German messages, after all.

_Hello, Lovi, Arturo!_

_By now, you have probably have eaten dinner in Paris and cruised down the Rhine in Germany. Gil and Francisco have tried to set a romantic mood, but Francisco and Mathias—and even I—think that the "Romantic Rhine" refers to the Rhine as it was during the Roman Empire. I'm not sure if Gil knows that though, but it might actually be romantic—who knows? I've never been!_

_Anyway, I know that I haven't been the most supportive of your relationship, but I do want Lovi to be happy. Arturo most likely thinks that he doesn't need my help, but he's too shy to initiate anything. I know he is since I've dated him before! I always had to pull him along, but enough about me! We—Francisco, Gilbert, Mathias, and I—have to do all of this for him, but he still hasn't done anything, has he?_

_There's one more stop you want to make. I think this glyph or rune or whatever it is will take you there. It is where you want to be the most. I know it is._

_Have you seen the stars yet, Lovi? Arturo hasn't shut up about it. You have seen the stars at least, haven't you?_

"What is he talking about, Arthur?" Lovino whispered softly, avoiding the scrutinising gaze of Elizaveta and the critical one of Ludwig. He glanced at the blond behind him and found that Arthur was blushing from the top of his head to the tip of his toes. Raking a hand through his dishevelled hair distraughtly, the Englishman found himself unable to speak for the longest time.

"Carriedo can't keep a secret," he grumbled before activating the rune.

Another blinding white light flashed before them, and Lovino winced as he clung closely to Arthur.

"Looks like the outside is finished at least."

Lovino raised his head and found that Arthur was studying a structure in front of them. Turning around, the brunet met with the sight of a white mansion built in a Romanesque style, and instead of the rubble and debris and the soot and ashes from four years ago, the Vargas estate was clean and pristine. It was as good as new.

"W-What is this?" Lovino stammered as he relinquished Arthur's hand to clutch at the iron gates barring them from entering. His eyes widened beyond the size of dinner plates, rivalling the circumference of the moon, as he studied the building in front of him. It was definitely the Vargas estate. It was definitely the house where he was raised for almost nineteen years of his life. It was his _home_. Tears formed in his eyes, and he attempted in vain to blink them away and to prevent them from falling and rolling down his cheeks, dripping off his chin. Of course, he failed. Falling to his knees, hands still clutching the iron bars, he asked Arthur, "Did you do this?"

"We left it as it was four years ago, practically decimated," Arthur explained. "I could tell you were attached to this place. You _did_ grow up here. I was attached to Britain as well, so I... I understand that you would miss it. During those four years when I was in a coma, I never did give orders to renovate this place. I started issuing them sometime after the shut-down. It's not entirely done yet since it's only been a few months, but I'm sure they'll be finished soon."

"Y-You... Ugh," Lovino swallowed a sob and choked on his tears. He snapped indignantly, glaring at Arthur through his tears, spitting, "Dammit! Why the hell do you always have to make me cry, you fucking _bastard_?" Arthur stood frozen in his spot, stunned and petrified, before gradually approaching Lovino. The Italian made no such move to push him away. Lovino inhaled sharply as Arthur caressed him gently, taking in his lover's aromatic scent of tea leaves, herbs and plants, as well as rum, and still allowed the blond to wrap his arms around his body and basked in his tender warmth and love. Lovino leaned closer to his torso, clutching at the fabric of his shirt, spilling his tears into the cloth, as Arthur rested his forehead against his shoulder.

"Are you displeased?"

"Nn..." Lovino responded weakly, "No, I'm not. Not at all. I'm..." He paused, trying to gather his words, and continued awkwardly, "I'm surprised, a little pissed, but... _happy_. A lot happy."

Arthur smiled, and the Italian could feel his lips curve against his shoulder. "Do you want to go in?"

"C-Can we?"

"It's your home," Arthur responded blatantly. "You call the shots." He smiled when Lovino beamed at him, tugging at his hand excitedly, as he eagerly led Arthur inside the estate. They ventured down the halls and up the stairs, each floor of the estate and each and every room of the estate, with their own story for Lovino to tell Arthur. The blond recalled his earlier request to hear more of Lovino's childhood that night, and he was quite touched that he hadn't needed to bribe Lovino into speaking of his past.

"This is Feliciano's art studio. I remember how that _idiota _would stay holed up in this room for days just painting. I don't know what the hell he does in there for so long, but whenever he comes out of there, he's always smiling... So I guess it's okay that he does that. I just wish that he would eat a little more while he's in there.

"This is my mother's garden. Felici and I always played out here while she was planting. She had all kinds of flowers and herbs and fruits and vegetables. Sometimes we got to help her, too, and, well, I ended up taking over for her after she died. She loved this garden so much that I couldn't let it die and wither away... I should probably take that up again. I actually kind of like gardening. Ugh, dammit, I sound like some kind of country bumpkin, but... it's true. It's pretty relaxing.

"This is my father's library. He doesn't have many English books, but he has a lot of poetry collections—mostly sonnets. He has a couple of Shakespearean plays, too. I don't really understand a couple of his books, but I do like reading them from time to time. When I was a kid, he used to seat me at his desk and read poetry—usually fairy tales. I did my homework in here, too, and he was always around to help me. He's pretty messy, so I used to try and help him clean up... but that never turned out well. Don't ask why, and—and don't give me that look, you bastard! I'm not telling you any time soon! You probably figured out that I'm fucking terrible at housecleaning anyway—ugh, _dammit_!

"This is _Nonno_'s study. I don't come in here often, but when I did... There were never any pleasant news attached. This was where he told me my parents died, and this was where Valentino, the bastard, told me that _Nonno_ died. I'd rather remember _Nonno_ always being in the kitchen. He was always cooking something, and he _always_ used tomatoes to cook... but he always cooked pasta because Feliciano _loves_ pasta, the _idiota_. I couldn't complain though because at least he used tomatoes.

"This is the ballroom. _Nonno _liked to throw parties, too—especially soirées. I remember that he would invite all sorts of people—businessmen and women, their families, designers, artists and musicians, actors and actresses, and, of course, other Mafioso with whom he was on good terms. I think I liked them better when I was a kid..." Lovino faltered as the two of them strolled into the vast ballroom. Their footsteps echoed in the large vicinity, bouncing off the walls all around them, as they stepped against the elegant marble flooring, a soft golden matte colour.

"Why is that?" Arthur asked him curiously.

"Well, when I was younger, I was still... oblivious to the dealings, you know? Everything seemed magical to me," Lovino confessed sheepishly. "The ladies in their lavish ball gowns, the men in their black and white suits, the delicious aroma of the catered food, the live music—a small orchestra—and the dancing _especially. _Everyone seemed like they were stepping on clouds, just... just... just _floating_. Then when I was around fifteen, I learnt that not all of the bastards and bitches who showed up at these parties were good, and it... it kind of lost that quality. I didn't like them as much any more." Ducking his head to hide the red blush on his cheeks, Lovino grumbled, "It sounds stupid, I know, and I sound like a little brat, too... I know, so don't make fun of me, dammit."

"I'm not," Arthur assured as he ventured the ballroom, exploring the new surroundings. His hand ghosted the smooth surface of a pillar, studying the elegant carvings and engravings. They resembled Ancient Roman columns. Romulus Vargas was definitely a cultured man. Without turning to Lovino, he recited, "'The more I learn, the more I realise that the less I know,' as spoken by Albert Einstein, am I right? It's natural to feel that way. The universe holds all sorts of mysteries, and one of the greatest mysteries is the human heart. It's a trait that the gods and daemons in general do not possess—humanity. Most of us envy that, really. It's what makes humans _alive_, so to speak." Arthur smiled at Lovino. "We can only seem human, but... you make me feel alive, Lovino. It's very overstated and overused. Still, I do feel that way; I'm starting to feel human again. It's... It's quite nice, actually."

Arthur sauntered to a nearby balcony and opened the glass doors, allowing the night wind to creep inside the ballroom. Motioning his hand like a conductor of a symphony, he orchestrated a stream of light to flow into the Vargas estate. Lovino watched, amazed and astounded, as the River Vitae diverged innumerable times, swirling around the floor, to form elegant figures of glowing light—a soft yellow in colour and intensity—consisting of primly dressed men in evening suits and ornately dressed women in ball gowns. The men of light bowed politely and silently asked for their partner's hand in a dance. Each and every figure paired together, and every pair joined together in a ballroom dance, stepping gracefully to a song only they could hear. Lovino was instantaneously whisked to a distant dream, watching them with awe and amazement, feeling as though he was once again a child at one of his grandfather's extravagant parties.

"Something like this, I suppose," Arthur murmured under his breath as he massaged his temples in thought, attempting to recall if this was the correct spell and if this was even what a ball would look like. It has been a while since he has thrown a formal soirée, after all. Lifting his gaze, he smiled at Lovino and stretched out his hand. "Shall we dance?"

Lovino flushed with embarrassment. "I-I don't know how to d-dance. I never learnt since, well, I told you, I didn't have much of an interest in those parties any more," the Italian mumbled timidly as he dropped his eyes on the floor.

"Nobody's watching," Arthur promised, that gentle, adoring smile still lingering on his lips.

"T-There's no music!"

A low hum rumbled from Arthur's direction, vibrating melodiously and harmoniously in Lovino's ears, in a warm and tender serenade. The song faded to a cease, and when Lovino lifted his gaze, Arthur was still smiling at him—though more mischievously than ever—and then remarked, "I don't think that will be a problem, my little spitfire." He beamed when Lovino reluctantly accepted his outstretched hand and immediately brought Lovino closer to his build. "I hope you don't mind learning the English waltz," Arthur whispered softly as he guided Lovino's left hand onto his right shoulder. Slipping his hand on Lovino's back, Arthur then clasped their hands together and decreased the distance between their bodies just like the dancers around them. Lovino flushed with embarrassment and dropped his gaze to their feet before Arthur released his hand to tilt Lovino's chin upwards. He smiled encouragingly. "Eyes on me," the blond instructed shortly. "We'll take it easy—one step per beat, three beats per measure. Follow my lead."

With that, the Englishman then began to count off the beat rhythmically, stressing the first beat every single time, creating his own song for them to enjoy. The counting ceased into an actual ballad that Arthur had began to sing into Lovino's ear, crooning softly and gently, as their formal waltz dissolved into leisurely swaying. Hazel eyes fluttered shut as a moist breath ghosted olive skin. Lovino pressed a chaste and innocent kiss against Arthur's nape and stilled with apprehension as Arthur paused. The Italian pulled away curiously and watched as the dancing figures with their beautiful ball gowns and expensive evening suits slowly and gradually dissolved once more into particles of light, flowing back into the River Vitae.

"Arthur...?" Lovino whispered softly.

Scarlet stained his cheeks as he averted his eyes from Lovino meekly. His lips parted as though he wanted to speak, but then he closed them again. A strangled noise ripped itself from his throat, and worry consumed Lovino's being. It was then that he remembered Antonio's note.

"You wanted to tell me something?"

Arthur pursed his lips together and nodded hesitantly before pulling Lovino to the balcony as though to escape the party of his dreams and imagination. The Italian followed uncharacteristically obedient for once and nearly gasped at the sight that awaited him. The stars were clear in the sky, and the River Vitae danced among the them. The brunet glanced at his blond haired lover, who leaned against the railing of the balcony, fiddling with his thumbs, as the Englishman scoured his empty head for the perfect words to say.

"It's... It's only been three months."

"Y-Yeah?"

"It's been a rather short time—but _good_! A good short, or, ah, rather short, time!" Arthur continued frenetically as his eyes darted here and there and everywhere _but Lovino_. "I-I-I mean... I meant... Oh, bloody hell." He palmed his forehead before continuing to hide his reddening face behind his hands. "Shit," he muttered. There was a pause. Then he repeated, "_Shit_."

"A-Arthur...? Dammit, s-s-stop it! Y-You're freaking me out, bastard!" Lovino's thoughts raced to and fro within his mind as he leapt from one conclusion to another with only Arthur's muddled words as the clue. No matter what, they sounded like the beginning of a breakup—one that Lovino _especially_ did not want—with how the Briton was trying to spare his feelings and with how he was strangely nervous in regards to all of these feelings.

"I can't help it!" Arthur snapped indignantly as he threw his arms into the air exasperatedly. "I'm so damn nervous, and I don't know what the bloody hell to do—what to say! I told that Frog and Gilbert and Mathias and Carriedo that I'd do this on my own because it's really not any of _their_ business about what goes on between us! Now they're trying to expedite things, and I'm thrown off my pace, and... and... _Shit._" He covered his face yet again in shame. "This is fucking awful—absolutely fucking terrible. It's... It's not what I had planned at all."

"What were you trying to do?" Lovino asked tentatively, crossing his arms defensively just in case Arthur lost his usual calm yet again. A part of him was weak and weary, however, still hanging onto his earlier assumptions.

"How..." Arthur paused and turned his gaze to the sky. "How do you feel about marriage?"

"M-Marriage?" Lovino repeated with a nervous stutter. His cheeks reddened as he remarked, "I told you four years ago. I only want to marry someone I love and someone who loves me back—to treasure and to cherish and—"

"To worship until death do us part," Arthur finished with a gentle smile. "I should be reassured by those words, but I'm still so bloody nervous. I'm... I'm trying to propose to you, silly git."

Lovino's eyes widened again that night, and Arthur's smile turned into a sheepish grin as he dug into the pocket of his jacket to pull out a small velvet box. He pulled it open to reveal a simple platinum band engraved with a pentagram, and within the centre of that pentagram was a rose embedded with a small diamond carat. Arthur knew that Lovino hated being flashy.

"Shit," Lovino muttered in the same fashion as Arthur had earlier while distress filled his core. "_Shit_." Tears flooded his eyes, and he attempted to blink them away before Arthur could notice them. However, his attempts were futile. Arthur pocketed the ring and pulled Lovino closer to him, wiping away his tears fluidly with the pad of his thumb. "Dammit, you sly bastard! You... You..." He cracked. "Why me? You had _at least_ twenty-four other girls to choose from, but you chose _me_."

"It wasn't a matter of choosing," Arthur protested. "There was nobody else to begin with. There was only you. Don't you know, Lovino? We're _soul mates_. We're a matching pair. Two of a kind." As though to prove his point, he lifted his hand and conjured a flame of brilliant blue. "What do you see?"

"A fire," Lovino mumbled as he shied away from Arthur's touch.

"What kind of fire?"

"Y-Your life essence... I think that's what it's called..."

"It's as much yours as it is mine," Arthur insisted, closing his open palm and extinguishing the flames. He inched closer to Lovino and embraced the Italian, cradling him in his arms, and pressed continuous and consistent kisses on the top of his head. "It's one and the same. My family—the strongest demons in existence—has seen your soul at least once, and they've noticed as well. Your soul is the same as mine, and I don't mean just in colour. I don't mean that it's just your soul either. It was always you, Lovino—not just Romano, but Lovino Vargas. It's whom you are as you are that I love, and it's you as you are that I want to love and marry and cherish for the rest of my existence... for as long as I live."

"Dammit, you bastard," Lovino mumbled into Arthur's chest, burying his tears into the fabric of his shirt, "what the hell are you trying to do to me? I can't say _no_, dammit." Arthur smiled into Lovino's hair. "Come to my room," Lovino muttered. "I don't want to leave here—not yet."

"Of course."

Instead of giving Arthur his own room, the Italian shyly pulled his English lover into his bedroom, where the blond promptly made himself comfortable—with Lovino's permission, of course. After all, he was a gentleman, and he would decidedly not snoop around Lovino's belongings... even though the Italian's single bookcase looked plenty interesting. Once Lovino left the room to shower by himself, as Arthur would rather give him some time alone to think about his options and future but not long enough to think _too much _and worry himself sick, the Briton sauntered over to the bookshelf lined against the wall. Lovino's collection and even his father's library did not even rival the size of the Tower of Arthur's manor, but, admittedly, the Tower possessed mostly tomes and grimoires and volumes of spell books with an occasional classic novel or play. Lovino's collection was more modern. The books were usually no more than three hundred pages in length, ranging from dramatic thrillers to comedic narratives.

Gingerly pulling a random book from the shelf, Arthur reached into one of the drawers of Lovino's bedside table in search of a bookmark on the off-chance that he wouldn't finish the book. His emerald eyes fell upon a box of condoms placed next to a bottle of lubricant. His cheeks reddened heavily at the sight before taking notice of the note next to it. Written sloppily in Danish were the words, "I had a discussion with Francis, Gilbert, and Antonio, and we figured that, if you two made it all the way here, there would be a use for this!"

Immediately slamming the drawer shut with embarrassment and indignation, Arthur forced himself to calm, relaxing his violent heartbeat, before he threw off his shoes and collapsed onto Lovino's plush mattress, reclining his back against the pillows and covering himself with the soft silken fabric of the blankets, as he flipped to the first page of the book, which he soon found to be a collection of Italian fairy tales. He diligently flicked through the first story, completed the second tale, and was nearly finished with the third if it wasn't for his mischievous lover. Being too engrossed in the foreign fairy tales, Arthur hadn't heard Lovino step through the door and into the bedroom with only a cotton towel wrapped around his waist; neither had he heard the rustling of fabric as the brunet crawled underneath the covers. It was only when he felt nimble fingers tug impatiently at his trousers and pulling down his pants in a jerking motion that he was suddenly aware of another presence in the room.

He stifled a low, throaty moan as he felt Lovino's plush lips press against the tip of his cock and a delicate, warm tongue lapping at the underside of his head. All of his heat surged to the lower region of his body as those pouty lips of his damn sexy Italian lover parted wider, slackening his lower jaw, opening to envelop as much of Arthur's aching member as he could in his heated cavern. The Englishman pressed his arm against his mouth, swallowing his moans as they came, as his lover lapped and licked and sucked, rubbing and caressing and massaging everything he could not reach, focusing on only pleasuring the blond. The hand holding the collection of fairy tales trembled, and upon loosening his grip, the book fell over the side of the bed with a heavy thud against the wooden flooring of the bedroom. Now free, Arthur's hand strayed to Lovino's rich brown tresses, weaving within those dampened locks, encouraging his lover to continue, lost in the throes of pleasure.

Just as he danced closer to release, Lovino pulled away with a _pop!_ As the Italian sat upright, the blanket slipped away from Arthur body and slid over Lovino's bare skin, pooling in a mess behind the brunet. The towel was draped haphazardly over his lap, but it did nothing to hide his lover's arousal. Neither could the lust, love, and desire be masked in his glassy hazel eyes. Arthur's eyes brazenly appraised Lovino's exotic olive skin, flawless and smooth like a modern Adonis, forever youthful and beautiful—at least to Arthur. His fingers reached for Lovino, brushing over his permanent mark on his skin, the pentacle over his heart, and Lovino watched him silently with a deep crimson flush on his cheeks.

The Englishman then took hold of his lover and pulled him closer and into his arms in a tight and heated embrace as a surge of pleasure ran up and down their spines from the immediate contact. Shortly recovering from the shock, Arthur pressed kiss after kiss against Lovino's tanned skin, not wasting any time with words, before locking their lips together. As he forced Lovino's swollen lips apart, mingling with that skilful tongue of his, Arthur could taste a slight bitterness in the Italian's mouth but didn't mind at all. While his lover was distracted, the blond pulled him onto his lap, closing the distance entirely and even more so when Lovino began stripping him of his clothing, and reached into the bedside drawer with his hand, clumsily and blindly searching for the insightful gift left behind by three of the Four Lords and Carriedo.

Once his hand fell upon the bottle of lubricant, he flicked the cap open and slicked the cool substance onto his fingers before prodding Lovino's entrance. The Italian noticeably squirmed, breaking off the kiss momentarily to adjust to the foreign invasion, before his eyes fell upon those of his lover. As soon as he processed the concern in those emeralds, he gave a weak but warm smile and pecked those pale lips adoringly, silently informing the blond that he was fine. With this new assurance, Arthur inserted another finger without further ado and began to scissor him gently, stretching Lovino until he was able to slip a third finger inside, thrusting them rhythmically in and out, deeper and deeper, until he was able to erect a wanton moan from those pouty lips, noticeably a few octaves higher than his usual voice, upon scraping his fingers against their dirty little secret that only Arthur had a privilege of knowing. The blond smiled, a part of him relieved that he was able to find Lovino's most pleasurable spot this time as well, before slicking more lubricant onto his throbbing member.

The Italian, who had been straddling his lover all this time, slid backwards and raised his hips, gently and slowly easing himself onto Arthur's cock with a breathy moan. He began rolling his hips, arching into Arthur's touches as the blond ran a hand up his back, and leaned closer to the blond to swallow his lips in another kiss. The Briton then reached for Lovino's own erected member, fondling him to ease such a painful pleasure, as the brunet continued grinding and grounding together with Arthur in an even more passionate dance than the ballroom waltz from earlier.

Of course, Arthur couldn't stand being submissive so much any longer than that and unceremoniously reversed their positions, pulling Lovino to his chest and flipping them around so that the Italian was now on his back, throwing his lover onto the mattress. Lovino glared indignantly at Arthur before his anger was pacified immediately with _just one more_ kiss. It definitely wouldn't be the last one; the both of them knew that—especially when Arthur began marking his olive skin again, bruising his supple flesh black and blue.

Building the pace, Arthur slid even more deeper and thrust deeply into his lover, increasing the rhythm into something more wild and aggressive, more fervent and feverish and more heated than ever before. Lovino reached for Arthur, pulling their bodies closer in a tight embrace, as they danced together closer to the edge of a never-ending passion in an intense and inflamed rondo, and together they plummeted into the depths of ardour and ecstasy with bursts of blinding white.

Collapsing on top of his lover, Arthur rolled onto his side and gazed at Lovino adoringly as he parted the stray strands of hair that collected in front of his beautiful hazel eyes. He peered beyond the stained glass of amber and green to stare into the dancing brilliant blue flames of his soul. "Absolutely beautiful," Arthur whispered underneath his breath, pressing yet another kiss on top of Lovino's forehead.

"I'm not going to be with you until death do us part," Lovino grumbled, pulling the covers up to his face to cover his cheeks. He glared at Arthur pointedly, unaware that his words had entirely crumbled the Englishman.

"I... I beg your pardon?"

Lovino flushed deeply, the heat spreading from the top of his head to the tip of his toes, as he explained himself, "I don't want even death to separate us, dammit, you dumb bastard. We promised, didn't we? That we would stay together forever and ever? Well, if I'm going to marry you, then we're going to be together forever and always, _capito_?" He rested his hand against Arthur's matching pentacle underneath the covers. "Even beyond this damn magic circle, even without the damn rings, even without the damn vows or those three words that are so _fucking hard to say_, we'll always be together forever."

A deliriously happy smile stretched itself onto Arthur's lips, curved upwards permanently in delight and euphoria, before he embraced Lovino yet again, pressing him closely to his chest. "All right," he promised, "even beyond death and beyond all ceremonies and vows, I will love you forever and always, Lovino Vargas. Always know and remember that, eh? Anyway, it doesn't have to be now, but will you marry me?"

Lovino nodded against Arthur's chest, muttered, "I will, you fucking devil."

Arthur smiled into Lovino's hair, whispering, "Then it all works out just fine in the end." He reached for his coat on the floor and dug into the pockets for the velvet box. Tossing aside his coat, he propped open the box and slipped the platinum band onto Lovino's finger, chirping, "I almost forgot."

"You damn spacey bastard."

"You rude little prat."

"You still fucking love me, dammit."

"That I bloody do—no matter how insufferable you may be."

"Fuck you."

"Already did, my little spitfire—already did."

* * *

**A/N:** This is the end of _Sympathy for the Devil_. The title of this story is actually based off a Rolling Stones song with the same name even though the story itself doesn't have much to do with the song.

For some reason, I get the feeling that Arthur came out more _kuudere _than _tsundere_ in this story, which is more of a nyo!England sort of personality. Well, it didn't turn out too badly, I suppose, since it suits a supposedly cold-hearted Demon King, but we all know that's not true of our King Arthur, right?

This universe actually took about four years to construct with the mythology and all. I've never done too well with fantasy/supernatural, so it takes a while for me to plan and think out all of the loops and circles. This story wasn't even in my mind four years ago though, so it was more of a plot thrown into a universe. Speaking of which, I'm not completely through with the universe. Since it took quite a bit of planning, I was thinking of playing with the Otherside a little more and exploring some more potentials and possibilities. There's still plenty I haven't addressed from the real identity of the Emperor to the members of Ivan's Vampire Coven! And what's this "Twenty-Four Knights" that Julchen mentioned above? At any rate, it's quite a big universe... In other words, there _might_ be a sequel to look forward to seeing. I mean, I've tried tying up the ending, but there are a few knots and tangles left loose and hanging for open interpretations... you know, until further notice. In a theoretical or prospective sequel, these kinds of endings are neatly fixed and cleared. We'll see.

I just want to say a quick little thank you to everyone who added this story to their favourites or followed or reviewed. It really is an honour to hear from everyone! Sometimes, when writing this, I feel like I've stepped on someone's religion with Arthur being the "Devil" and whatnot... I really had no intentions of offending anyone though as this story is really entertainment based off fancy and imagination and a lot of research, so every little bit of support or praise or criticism completely improved my self-esteem and confidence. It really made me happy and brought a smile to my face in numerous occasions!

Well, there's no sense in making this a speech as though I've won an Oscar or a Grammy or Emmy or whatever. If you're still reading this, I just really want you to know that I'm really touched that you've stuck with this story this long. For now, this is it... Until next time then!


End file.
